


Never A Flame, We Just Wanted A Spark

by pumpkinspiceprouvaire



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Combeferre & Courfeyrac & Enjolras Friendship (Les Misérables), Courfeyrac being Courfeyrac, Enjolras and Cosette Fauchelevent are Siblings, Enjolras and Eponine are work bros, Escort Service, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Montparnasse is the worst ex ever, The Hook Up Plan au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29439555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinspiceprouvaire/pseuds/pumpkinspiceprouvaire
Summary: “Okay,” Courfeyrac says, leaning closer to Combeferre “I’ve done something, and I didn’t really think it through, and it could be really good but it could also be really bad, and you absolutely cannot tell Enjolras.”Nothing good has ever followed a sentence like that, especially where Courfeyrac is concerned. Combeferre sighs.“Let’s hear it.”“He’s an escort.”Or,Courfeyrac hires an escort, R, to help Enjolras get over his ex. It goes about as well as expected.
Relationships: Cosette Fauchelevent/Éponine Thénardier, Courfeyrac/Jean Prouvaire, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Montparnasse (past), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: alcohol consumption

“Enjolras,” Cosette shakes his shoulder, much harder than she needs to in his opinion, given how bad his hangover is. “Enjolras, wake up.” Rather than sitting up and trying to appear human, he groans and swats at her with his arm. 

She snorts. “It’s eight thirty.”

Well, _now_ he’s awake, given that he starts work in half an hour.

“What the hell, why didn’t my alarm go off?” He grumbles, pushing himself into a sitting position and groping blindly for his phone. God, he’s never letting Courfeyrac talk him into Thursday night drinks again. “Where is my phone?”

Enjolras opens his eyes properly, and it’s then he realises that he’s collapsed, not on his bed, but on the couch in the room which doubles as their sitting room and Cosette’s waiting room for her chiropractor business. His sister is standing over him, one hand on her hip, pretending to be disapproving, but Enjolras can tell the hand she has over her mouth is hiding a grin, and her shoulders are shaking with silent laughter. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’m never letting Courf buy my drinks again. When does your first client arrive?”

Cosette looks to her left. “Um, five minutes ago.”

Enjolras looks to where she’s looking, and sees a woman in her sixties staring at him over the top of a magazine which is at least nine months old. 

“Hi.” Enjolras says, giving her what he hopes is a normal smile and not one of a hungover crazy person, which is how he feels. 

“Madame Desfriches, this is my younger brother, Enjolras.” Cosette explains. “We’re living together at the minute.” 

Enjolras stands, and starts gathering his things. “I am _so_ sorry you’re having to witness this.” 

Luckily, Cosette’s client seems to find his situation hilarious rather than mortifying. That makes one of them at least. “Don’t worry son, I remember what it was like to be young and free.” She glances at the clock. “However, you should probably go or you’re going to be very late for work.”

Enjolras supposes she has a point. 

***

“I’m here! I’m alive! I’m not late!” Enjolras bursts into the office at 9am, which he thinks is pretty impressive given how late he woke up and how much his head is pounding. 

Eponine doesn’t look up from her computer. “According to my watch, you’re two minutes late.”

Fuck.

She’s grinning though, and tosses him an iced coffee from the mini fridge she keeps beside her desk, so really he’s in no position to complain. “Good night with the boys, then?”

Enjolras groans as he slides into his chair and presses the cool metal of the coffee to his forehead. “God no. Awful. This is why I don’t drink with Courfeyrac during the week. So much tequila.” He looks mournfully at Eponine, who looks back with absolutely no sympathy. Rude. “And I’ve lost my phone.” 

“And, just to make things even better for you, your ex is standing at our window again.” Eponine says, and Enjolras groans. Despite having dated Montparnasse for eight months, he still doesn’t know what he does that means he has time to mince around city hall grounds at 9am on a Friday morning, instead of going to work like everyone else. He also wonders vaguely if he can hide under his desk until Montparnasse goes away. He figures no. 

So he walks over and opens the window and stares up at Montparnasse, who is at ground level. Because of course all the legal interns in city hall get stuck in the basement offices. 

“Hi Montparnasse, can I help you with something?” Enjolras asks, running his hand through his curls and hoping he looks at least marginally better than he feels. 

“Good night last night?” Montparnasse asks, pulling his phone out of his pocket and leaning against the window. “Seemed to be from the texts you sent me.”

_Oh God please no._ “Did I text you?” 

“11pm: Hey Mont, you out? 11.10pm: Actually never mind, forgot that you’re a massive prick. 11.12pm: And also a wanker. And then after that it’s just a bunch of key smashes.” Montparnasse raises his eyebrows at Enjolras. 

“Are you sure that was me?” Enjolras tries, and hears Eponine snort behind him. 

***

It definitely was him. Enjolras, after having a cigarette and therefore sobering up the slightest amount, was desperately trying to delete the messages when his phone was snatched out of his hands. 

“Nope, that’s it, confiscated!” Courfeyrac said, stretching his arm out of Enjolras’ reach. 

“Noooo, Courf, give it back!” Enjolras was more than a little drunk by this time, so his protests didn’t really evolve beyond a few weak slaps to Courf’s arm. 

“Nope!” Courfeyrac grabbed Enjolras’ face in both hands, squishing his cheeks together. “We are here to get drunk, have fun, and find a nice boy for you to get under.” 

“Not necessarily in that order.” Combeferre added. “Although to be fair I think you’re already pretty drunk.” 

“We are _not_ here to watch you text your asshole ex all night and then turn into an absolute wet wipe when he doesn’t respond.” 

“But I wasn’t texting my asshole ex! I was trying to _delete_ my texts to my asshole ex!” Enjolras had whined, trying to grab his phone, but Courfeyrac held it beyond his reach. “Also, I don’t need anyone to get under.” His eyes narrowed. “Also I am not a wet wipe.” 

“Ah, Enjolras, my darling. That’s where you’re wrong.” Courf had wrapped an arm around his shoulders and took him to the dance floor then. Enjolras didn’t know what part he was wrong about exactly, and soon completely forgot that Courfeyrac still had his phone. 

***

“Is there anything else, Montparnasse?” Enjolras asks, deciding to bypass the drunk texts conversation completely, “It’s just I need to call Courfeyrac, he still has my phone.” 

“Listen, Enjolras,” Montparnasse leans his hand against the window frame, so he can’t slam it shut even though he really, really wants to. “I think you’re a great kid, and-”

“Oh my god Montparnasse, I’m three years younger than you. Also we dated for eight months.” _Get your head out of your own ass,_ he doesn’t add. 

“Anyway, I think you’re great. And we had a good time together.” Montparnasse shoots him what is a leer more than a genuine smile. “But I’m with someone else now. And you’re a good looking guy. It’s time you moved on with someone else.”

“Goodbye, Montparnasse.” Enjolras says coldly, and shuts the window. Montparnasse only just gets his hand out of the way in time. 

***

“Oh my god, you guys have got me so drunk. I have work in like, five hours.” Enjolras had mumbled as they walked back to his and Cosette’s apartment from the bar, his arms linked with Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

“That was the plan, Enj.” Courfeyrac said, practically bouncing where he was walking alongside him. “Too bad it’s not some pretty boy with a great ass taking you home instead of us. Although I do have a great ass.”

Combeferre rolled his eyes as he tried to balance his post-drinking takeaway with one arm and Enjolras with the other as Enjolras said “Courf, we’ve been over this. I do not need to hook up with some random guy in a bar.”

Courfeyrac made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “Enjolras, you and Montparnasse broke up six _months_ ago, and since then all you’ve done is _mope._ ” Combeferre didn’t think that was strictly true, but Enjolras had been pretty morose since things had ended with his ex. 

“And we all know,” Courfeyrac said, unlinking his arm with Enjolras’ to steal some of the blonde’s fries, “That the best way to get over a guy is to get under another one. It’s been proven by science.”

Combeferre snorted. “It most definitely has not.” 

“Well, it’s been proven by me then.”

They were at Enjolras’ apartment then, and Enjolras had scoffed when they asked if they needed to walk him to his apartment. “I think I can handle getting to my bedroom. But thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

Courfeyrac had sighed as Enjolras disappeared into the apartment building. “I really, _really_ did not expect this.” 

Combeferre nodded, unwrapping his own fries, which were pretty much cold now. “I know. I didn’t think he’d ever get so hung up on someone. Especially someone like Montparnasse.” 

“What can we do about it though?” Courfeyrac asked as they crossed the street and started walking down past the city hall. 

Combeferre shrugged. “I don’t really know. All I know is, at this point, I’d pay for him to be happy.” 

“You would?” Combeferre wasn’t looking at Courfeyrac at this point, too focused on eating his takeaway. So he missed the grin Courfeyrac sent him. 

***

After his conversation with Montparnasse, and after listening to Eponine laugh her ass off at him, Enjolras actually decided to get some work done. So it’s lunchtime before he’s able to call Courfeyrac to try and get his phone back. 

So of course, that’s when Courfeyrac decides _not_ to answer his phone. Five times. He’s the worst. 

Huffing in frustration, he calls his own number. Someone picks up. 

“Hello?” The voice is male, yes, but it is decidedly _not_ his best friend. 

Enjolras frowns. “Um, hello?” 

“Uh, hi.” The voice says again. 

Enjolras mentally shakes himself. “Hi, can I speak to Courfeyrac please?”

“Who’s Courfeyrac?” The voice asks, sounding confused. 

“Uh, the guy you spent the night with, apparently.” Enjolras rolls his eyes and ignores the gleeful look Eponine sends him. She loves hearing about the antics of his ‘sluttiest, but in a good way’ friend (Courf’s words, not his). 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t spend the night with anyone.” The voice says, and Enjolras feels his stomach drop. 

“Well then, how come you have my phone?” He puts his office phone on loud speaker so Eponine, who is shooting him a very confused look, can hear as well. “You know, most people who steal a phone never actually answer it when it rings.” God, he’s never drinking again. There’s just too much fucking _admin_ the next day. 

“Woah, calm down. I didn’t steal anything.” The voice on the other end says. “I found it.”

Enjolras snorts. “Really? Where? In Courfeyrac’s pocket?” 

“No, on the bar in the Cafe Musain.” 

Oh. Enjolras supposes that could also be a possibility. He forgot that Courfeyrac had had as many shots as Enjolras the night before, and that Courf was equally as bad at keeping track of his belongings when drunk. 

“Oh.” Enjolras says, and clears his throat awkwardly. “Sorry. For uh, accusing you of stealing.” 

“It’s okay.” Luckily, the guy he’s speaking to actually sounds amused, rather than insulted like Enjolras definitely would have been. 

“So, would there be any way I could stop by wherever you are and get it back?” He tries to make his voice sound pleasant as opposed to embarrassed, and ignores the way Eponine is sniggering at him. 

“No, it’s okay. I can drop it to wherever you are.” There’s a pause. “I’d like to see you again.”

Enjolras frowns. “Did I speak to you last night?” He doesn’t _remember_ speaking to anyone. But then, he doesn’t remember much from the bar. 

“Yeah, we had a brief chat at the front bar.” The voice says, “I thought you were cute.” Enjolras thinks he can hear a grin in his voice. “I liked your dance moves.”

Enjolras winces. He kind of wishes he didn’t have the phone on speaker now. 

“Where do you work? I can drop it off for you.” The voice continues. 

Enjolras starts. He was still running the _I thought you were cute_ around his head. “I work at city hall. I can meet you at the front entrance at six.” 

“Perfect. I’ll see you then.” The line goes dead. 

Enjolras runs his hands through his hair, wincing when his fingers get caught in a tangled curl. “Wow. I _suck_.” 

“You do. Remind me _never_ to get drunk with you. I’m not a babysitter, no matter how much I want to see your dance moves” Eponine agrees, but then she grins at him and gives him two thumbs up, ignoring the middle finger he’s giving her. “But hey! Meet cute! He could be the love of your life!”

“Oh my god Eponine, no.” Enjolras shakes his head. “I don’t even remember speaking to him. He could have a goatee. His entire body could be covered in scales.” 

Eponine just laughs at him again. 

***

The guy he meets at the front of city hall does not have a goatee, nor is he covered in scales (from what Enjolras can see anyway). 

He’s attractive actually, with black curls shorter than Enjolras’, dark stubble to match, broad shoulders covered with an expensive looking leather jacket and blue-grey eyes that light up when he sees Enjolras approach. 

“Hi Apollo,” The man says, pushing himself off the lamppost he’d been leaning against. He’s holding Enjolras’ phone in his hand, and holds it out to him. “There you go. Good as new.” 

“Ha, thanks.” Enjolras smiles as he takes it, electing not to ask why this stranger was calling him _Apollo_ of all things. And then, because the guy is still looking at him “Sorry about earlier. On the phone. The uh, the other phone.” _Obviously_ he means the other phone, Jesus Christ. 

The guy smiles, and it’s a nice smile, if slightly crooked. “Don’t worry about it. What’s your name?” 

“Enjolras.” And, when the guy doesn’t say anything, he asks. “Yours?”

“R.”

Enjolras raises an eyebrow. “That’s not a name. That’s a letter.” 

R shrugs, and holds out a hand for Enjolras to shake, which he does. “That’s what people call me.”

“So,” He continues when Enjolras doesn’t say anything, “You work at city hall?” 

Enjolras nods. “Yeah. Um, just as a legal intern. It’s a temporary thing. I graduated last year. But yeah, it’s,” He shrugs. “It’s fine. It’s good.” 

R doesn’t say anything else, just nods at Enjolras and smiles again. 

“So,” Enjolras says when the silence becomes more awkward than he can stand. “I’m gonna go.” He waves his hand, still holding the phone, at R. “Thanks for returning this.” 

“No problem, Enjolras.” R leans back against the lamppost, crooked smile still on his face. “I hope to see you around.” 

“Thanks.” Enjolras says again, before turning to head home and finally, _finally_ be hungover in peace. 

***

That idea dies at 8pm, when Combeferre and Courfeyrac show up at his place without warning to discuss the night before. But they brought pizza, so Enjolras can’t really be mad at them. Not that he would be anyway, seeing as they’re his best friends. Cosette is out for the night with some friends from her university days, so they’re spread out on the living room floor. 

“R?” Combeferre sounds sceptical, and has one eyebrow raised. “What kind of a name is R?” 

“That’s what I said!” Enjolras throws the crust of his pizza down. “And he said I was cute, why would he say that?” 

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes as he chews his fifth slice of pizza. “Oh I don’t know, Enj.” He says. “Maybe because he thinks you’re cute?” 

“But he didn’t even ask for my number or anything.” Enjolras looks between his two friends. “I don’t even remember speaking to him. Do either of you remember me speaking to him?” 

Combeferre frowns, “Thinking back on it, I don’t actually remember you speaking to anyone last night.” 

“It doesn’t matter!” Courf says suddenly, launching himself forward and snatching Enjolras’ phone off the table. “Let’s look at last night’s photos!” 

Sighing, Enjolras leans over Courf’s shoulder to look at the pictures from the night before, most of which were selfies Courf had taken, presumably after he’d stolen Enjolras’ phone. 

And then-

“What the hell?” Enjolras snatches his phone out of Courf’s hands. Because-

It’s a photo of R, lying on the pavement, with writing in chalk in front of him. _Dinner, Saturday night?_

Courfeyrac positively _shrieks_ in excitement. 

Enjolras scrolls to the next photo. It’s R again, a selfie this time, pointing at chalk writing on the wall. _The Corinth, 8pm?_ Below that, a phone number. 

Combeferre is laughing now, and Courfeyrac clutches his arms and stares a bit too intensely for Enjolras’ liking. 

“You’re going.” 

Enjolras bites his lip. “I don’t know. I mean, isn’t it a bit _weird?_ Like, he didn’t even know my name when he did this.” 

“It’s _romantic,_ Enjolras! And he’s cute! Plus you’ve already met him once, so you know he’s not an absolute freak, or a serial killer.” Enjolras privately thinks there’s still plenty of time for R to turn out to be an absolute freak or a serial killer, but Courfeyrac is on a roll now, so he keeps the thought to himself. 

“So, you’re going to brush your hair, and you’re going to wear those jeans that make your butt look cute, and you’re going to go on the date and you’re going to have a good time, _okay_?”

***

So Enjolras goes on the date. 

He meets R outside the restaurant, and there’s a moment where Enjolras goes in for a handshake but R goes in for a kiss on the cheek, so Enjolras ends up kind of punching him in the stomach. But like, whatever. It’s fine. 

“Are you okay?” R asks when they’re both sitting down, and Enjolras takes a glug of water before answering. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” He looks round the restaurant they’re in. It’s nice. “I just- Um. I don’t really do this a lot.” He waves his hand vaguely, to encompass the restaurant, the stranger sitting across from him, the whole concept of _dating._

“That’s okay.” R smiles again. 

“Like, my ex and I, we never really did the whole dating thing, we just kind of started-” He cuts himself off then, because Enjolras doesn’t know much about dating but he does know that letting it show that you’re still not over your ex after six months is _fairly_ bad first date etiquette.

“So, tell me about yourself?” He segues awkwardly. 

“What do you want to know?” 

Seriously? “Uh, I don’t know. Like, what do you do for a living?” 

“I’m a teacher.” R smiles again. “Art and history of art.” 

It’s a nice smile. 

“And you?” R continues the conversation, “Have you always dreamed of being a legal intern at city hall?” 

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Of course not.” He takes a sip of wine. “It’s a stop gap, while I find something better.” 

“Oh? And what is your something better?” R asks him, eyebrow raised. 

Enjolras is trying his best not to fidget, but finds himself running a fingertip around the rim of his wine glass anyway. “Nonprofit or activism work of some kind. I think it’s important that-” He stops speaking when he hears R snort, and narrows his eyes. “What?”

R is smirking. “Nothing. It’s just- Do you really think stuff like that works?” 

Enjolras blinks. “Of course it works. If enough people want to change things, and make a difference, of course it works.” 

R gives an amused laugh. “Right, okay, whatever you say, Apollo. You want to save the world, you go right ahead.” 

Enjolras bites the inside of his cheek, and scrapes his chair back to stand, because this sort of conversation is a little too familiar for his liking. “Okay, I don’t think this is going to work-”

“Wait, shit, no.” R reaches out and grabs his hand before he can stand up properly. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I can be a dick about stuff like this. It’s just the way I am. But.” Another flash of that smile. “I’d like for you to prove me wrong.” 

Enjolras narrows his eyes again. He glances down to where R is still holding his hand, hesitates for a second. Then he sits down again.

***

“Can I give you a ride home?” R asks as they leave the restaurant together. 

Enjolras tucks a stray curl behind his ear. “Oh no that’s okay. I’m meeting Combeferre and Courfeyrac.” He swallows. “But, um. I had fun.” Admittedly, he’d nearly given up completely after their rocky start, but there was something undeniably charming about R, and he found himself feeling glad that he’d stayed.

“Me too, Enjolras. Give me your number and I’ll text you.” R replies, reaching his hand into his back pocket and pulling out an old phone which looks like it came directly from the 90s. 

Enjolras is slightly tipsy, so he finds this a lot funnier than it actually is. “Oh my god. That thing is ancient. Does it have Snake?” 

R grins at him. “Of course it does. I fucking love Snake.” 

Enjolras laughs again, “I’ll text you. I’ve already got your number, it’s probably easier. Thanks for tonight.” The curl has come loose again, and Enjolras starts a bit when he feels R reach up and tuck it behind his ear. 

“Goodnight, Enjolras.” R whispers. He leans down, and Enjolras knows what’s going to happen before it does and turns his head to the side, so R’s lips land on his cheek rather than his mouth. Because, fuck, he’s just not _there_ yet. 

***

When Grantaire gets home at eleven thirty, Jehan is lying across their sofa watching Bevis and Butthead reruns, which normally means they’re fairly stoned. Their hair is also in rollers, but, well. That’s just Jehan. 

“Hey, I thought you were working tonight?” They call over as Grantaire hangs up his jacket. 

“I was.” He calls back, taking a beer out of the fridge and taking a swig. 

They turn round on the sofa to properly look at him, one arm thrown over the back and one eyebrow raised. “You’re back awfully early, are you not?” 

Grantaire shrugs. “Yeah, I guess I am.” He heads to his room, and tries not to think of blonde curls and smooth skin under his lips.

***

“There he is! Our Casanova!” Courfeyrac practically leaps out of his seat when Enjolras opens the door to the bar they’re meeting at, grabbing Enjolras around the waist and lifting and twirling them both. Combeferre thinks it’s pretty impressive that Courfeyrac can lift Enjolras at all, given that the latter is about 5 inches taller. 

“Oh my god, Courfeyrac, _stop._ Put me down.” Enjolras tries to sound affronted, but he’s smiling and Combeferre can tell from the way he stumbles when Courf sets him down that he’s tipsy.

“So, how’d it go?” He asks as Enjolras takes the seat next to him. Courfeyrac takes the seat opposite. 

Enjolras shrugs, but he’s still smiling. “It was- It was nice actually. He’s interesting. And funny. He studied art in Milan for a few semesters.”

“Huh, I didn’t know that.” Courfeyrac mutters. 

Combeferre blinks at him. “Why would you know that?” 

Courfeyrac doesn’t say anything, but his face goes bright red, and Combeferre has known him for long enough now to know that means he’s hiding something. 

Enjolras misses this exchange, still talking about his date, and Combeferre does his best to listen whilst continuing to stare at Courfeyrac. Eventually Enjolras stands and pulls a familiar packet out of his back pocket. 

“I’m going for a smoke, be right back.” 

Combeferre nods, and Enjolras frowns at him before leaving for the bar’s smoking area. Probably because Combeferre isn’t subjecting him to his usual stop smoking lecture, which he’s given both him and Courfeyrac every time they have one for the past eight years or so. But Combeferre has other things to worry about. 

Courfeyrac smiles at him., but Combeferre has known him for long enough that he can tell he feels tense. “That’s great about Enj’s date, right? Looks like he had a really good night!” 

“Courfeyrac, why would you know that R studied art in Milan?” 

“Uhhhh…”

“ _Courfeyrac.”_

“Okay,” Courfeyrac says, leaning closer to Combeferre “I’ve done something, and I didn’t really think it through, and it could be really good but it could also be really bad, and you absolutely _cannot_ tell Enjolras.” 

Nothing good has ever followed a sentence like that, especially where Courfeyrac is concerned. Combeferre sighs. 

“Let’s hear it.”

“He’s an escort.”

Combeferre blinks. “Who’s an escort?”

“R. He’s an escort. I hired him for Enjolras.” 

It takes a minute for the words to fully sink in, and then- 

“Oh my _God_ , Courf!” 

Courfeyrac holds up his hands. “I know! I know! It was just a stupid, spur of the moment thing! Just to get him out there again. And R’s a classy escort, I checked with him! I’d only get the best for our boy-”

Really, he’s taken it too far this time. Combeferre stands up. “I’m telling him.” 

“Ferre, _no!_ ” Courfeyrac grabs his sleeve and pulls him back into his seat. “Combeferre, nothing _bad_ happened. It was just a stupid date, and from the sounds of it, they didn’t even kiss. He actually enjoyed himself for once, Ferre, let’s just let him have this.” 

Combeferre takes a deep breath, and glances out to the smoking area. 

“Fine.” He closes his eyes, covers his face with his hands. “Honestly Courfeyrac, one of these days I am actually going to murder you.” 

“Why are you murdering Courfeyrac?” Enjolras asks, having returned from his smoke break since Combeferre had closed his eyes. 

He sits down next to Combeferre, and pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I agree with the sentiment, but I feel like we should at least have a motive.” 

Combeferre looks at Enjolras, and then at Courfeyrac. He shakes his head the slightest bit, too subtly for Enjolras to see, eyes pleading. 

Combeferre takes another deep breath, and lets it out. “No reason.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so dumb y'all I'm sorry.
> 
> This is an AU of The Hook-Up Plan/Plan Coeur, which is a super cheesy French Netflix show that I highly recommend. This fic will be super cheesy, but I would not necessarily recommend it.
> 
> Also if anyone is wondering, Cosette is a chiropractor because this is my AU and I do what I want
> 
> [Find me on tumblr!](https://pumpkinspice-prouvaire.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

“So you didn’t end up sleeping with him?” Jehan asks. 

It’s Sunday morning, and Grantaire is in the kitchen with Jehan, telling them in detail about work last night, because for some reason they like to hear all the gritty details of what they call his ‘sordid affairs’ and what he calls ‘my fucking job’. 

He shrugs. “Nope. He didn’t even hire me. His best friend did to help him get over his ex. I don’t think he even knows anything about it. Pretty sure he thinks I’m just, like, some guy.” 

“But like, what did his friend pay you _for_ exactly?” 

Another shrug. “He paid me my full rate upfront for two dates and told me ‘Don’t worry about what you end up doing or not doing. Just be nice and handsome and charming and let Enjolras decide what he wants to do. Let him lead you.’”

Jehan is full-on laughing now. “Grantaire, you’re supposed to be my best friend. Why don’t you ever do anything like that for me?” 

“But hey,” They continue, reaching into the top cupboard for their green tea. “Full rate, two meetings set up and paid upfront and you were home before midnight last night. That’s a pretty good deal.” They look at him as their tea brews. “And you said he was hot, right?”

Grantaire thinks of golden hair and golden skin and a stray curl falling in front of Enjolras’ face.

“Yeah.” He hears himself saying, “Yeah he’s pretty hot.”

***

As much as Combeferre would like to bury his head in the sand and pretend that his best friend is not setting his other best friend up with an escort, he accepts that he can’t simply can’t ignore it. And so he finds himself glaring at Courfeyrac across their shared kitchen table at 7am on Monday morning. 

“Eugh, Ferre, can’t this wait until I’ve finished my cereal?” Courfeyrac grumbles, but Combeferre has no sympathy for him and his Weetabix right now. “Also, haven’t we been over this? What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” A million nightmare scenarios run through Combeferre’s head for the millionth time that weekend. “He could get robbed, he could get an STD…”

“You know, you’re being pretty anti-sex worker right now.” Courfeyrac says, spoon paused halfway to his mouth. 

Combeferre huffs, because he’s right, and he feels bad, but…

“Or worse?” He continues. “What if he ends up falling for him?” 

Courfeyrac scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Combeferre, don’t be ridiculous. This isn’t _Pretty Woman._ ” 

“Besides,” He continues, ignoring Combeferre’s mumble of ‘At least the guy in _Pretty Woman_ knew what he was paying for’, “This is _Enjolras_ we’re talking about. He doesn’t do the falling for people thing. And he _is_ an adult, believe it or not. He just needs to go on a couple dates, have some fun for once in his life, and then everything will be a-okay.” 

Combeferre is still glaring at Courfeyrac stands. “You know that Enjolras is perfectly capable of having fun. We’ve been friends with him long enough to know that.”

Courf gives an exasperated sigh as he rinses out his cereal bowl. “Well, you know what I mean, anyway. Besides,” He turns and heads down their hallway to start getting ready for work. “I’ve already paid the guy for two dates. I doubt I’m going to get a refund now.”

***

Grantaire meets Courfeyrac again on the latter’s lunch break outside the department store near Montparnasse station. He’s talking rapidly into a phone when he approaches, but catches Grantaire’s eye and gives a cheery wave. He hangs up, and strides over to Grantaire with a grin. 

“So, how did Saturday night go?” He asks, hopping up to sit on the wall Grantaire is leaning against, smoking a cigarette. Courfeyrac pulls out his own packet and lights up too. 

Grantaire raises his eyebrows. “I mean, it was pretty much the same as any other client dinner.”

“Tell me more, tell me more, did you get very far?” The guy, Courfeyrac, sings. Grantaire has never met anyone like him before in his life. 

“Well, no.” He answers. “I mean, I tried to kiss him, at the end, but he moved his head so I ended up getting his cheek.”

Courfeyrac sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounds like “Jesus Christ, Enjolras.” to himself. But he’s smiling when he meets Grantaire’s eyes. “No matter! He’s an absolutely incredible person, I love him to pieces, but he is the most awkward guy ever when it comes to stuff like this.” Grantaire is momentarily taken aback by how much praise Courfeyrac has heaped upon his absent friend. Grantaire doesn’t know if anyone he knows would describe him as _absolutely incredible._

“Well,” He asks, before he can dwell on that any longer, “Did you not ask Enjolras how it went?” 

“Oh, I did.” Courfeyrac says with a smile just verging on smug. “He said he had a really nice time.” Grantaire pointedly ignores the little thrill he feels in his chest at that, because it's new and frankly he doesn't like it much, doesn't want to spend too long examining what it could mean. 

“Anyway,” Courfeyrac continues, pulling a sheet of paper out of the pocket of his smart suit jacket. (Grantaire has no idea what his guy does. He dresses like an executive and seems to have no problem paying Grantaire’s rate, which isn’t cheap, but he also reminds Grantaire vaguely of an entertainer at a kid’s birthday party) “It’s time for phase 2.”

Phase 2, as in, date 2. The paper Courfeyrac gives him consists of a shopping list, and an address to a theatre near the Place de la Republique. It’s even more dramatic and corny than the chalk photos on Enjolras’ phone- Grantaire is going to end up getting a reputation, at this rate.

Courfeyrac finishes his cigarette and hops off the wall, brushing his suit down. “I’ve got everything organised with the guys at the theatre. They know you’re coming at some point so it’s all good.” 

“Have-Have you written me a script?” Grantaire asks incredulously, narrowing his eyes at the writing on the back of the paper. 

“Well, more a basic guideline. Just to add a bit of spice.” Courfeyrac grins, and Grantaire sends up a silent prayer for Enjolras, because he knows they're friends, but he would definitely not trust this guy to handle his own love life. Not that Grantaire has one. 

He looks down at the script, and raises an eyebrow at Courfeyrac. “My dad had a deal with the doorman?” He quotes skeptically. 

“Okay, so I admit it’s not Shakespeare.” Courfeyrac says with an eye roll. “I wrote it after a few beers. It's whatever. Just put your own spin on it.”

Grantaire nods, stubbing his own cigarette out and walking towards his metro stop. 

“Oh, R!” He hears Courfeyrac call after him, and turns around. 

Courfeyrac winks at him. “Try to get more than a kiss on the cheek on this one, yeah?” 

***

“So, have you arranged a second date with R yet?” Courfeyrac asks him on Thursday night. The three of them are in the Cafe Musain, but drinking coffee this time. Enjolras has definitely learned his lesson where Thursday night drinks are concerned.

He bites his lip. “Not yet.” He takes a sip of his latte to stall. “I’m not sure about it to be honest.” 

“Oh no, what a shame, I guess that’s the end of that then.” Combeferre says automatically, and Enjolras narrows his eyes at him. 

Courfeyrac, too, is glaring at Combeferre. “No, it most certainly is not.” He looks at Enjolras. “What are you unsure about?” 

Enjolras shrugs one shoulder. Honestly at this stage he doesn’t even know what he doesn’t know. “I guess I just...Don’t really know what to say. Also, the date was on Saturday, and it’s Thursday now. I’ve left it too long, I doubt he’s interested anymore to be honest.” 

“Well Enjolras, then it’s all about pulling him back.” Courfeyrac says, and he reaches across the table to grab Enjolras’ unlocked phone, types something before he can snatch it back, and sets it down again. 

Enjolras smiles serenely at his best friend of twelve years. “Courfeyrac, I swear to God. If you keep stealing my phone, I’m going to have to break your wrist.” Beside him, Combeferre snorts. 

“Okay, okay, I promise that’s the last time.” It definitely won’t be. “I just wanted to help you out.” 

“Yeah, you’ve been doing that a lot recently.” Combeferre mutters, and Enjolras has no idea what _that’s_ about. Probably a roommate dispute. He doesn’t want to know. 

Enjolras’ phone buzzes between the three of them on the table, and he resists looking at it for about three milliseconds before he’s unlocked it and is reading the text. 

_Tomorrow night, I’ll meet you at the backstage entrance of the Theatre Dejazet at six thirty._

“Bold of you to just assume I’m free on a Friday night.” Enjolras mutters to himself.

He is free, of course. 

But that’s not the point. 

Courfeyrac is, of course, reading his texts over his shoulder, because he’s the nosiest person alive, and nudges him in the ribs. 

“Hey, second date, how about that?” 

“All thanks to your amazing texting skills, Courf.” Combeferre says, and he sounds amused despite his weirdness a few seconds ago. 

“Yeah, what did you send him anyway?” Enjolras asks, and scrolls up in the conversation to find-

A peach emoji, an eggplant emoji and a tongue emoji. Nothing else.

“Courfeyrac, for _fuck’s sake._ ”

***

Enjolras meets R outside the theatre, and this time he’s prepared and automatically goes for the kiss on the cheek, so R doesn’t get punched in the stomach, which makes one improvement on their first date. 

R is wearing his leather jacket again, and has what looks like a picnic basket hanging over one arm. “Hi Enjolras.” He says, “You’re looking lovely as usual.”

“Oh. Um, thanks.” Enjolras feels his cheeks reddening. “So, what are we doing here?” He raises an eyebrow at the picnic basket. 

“You’ll see.” R says, holding out his hand for Enjolras to take. He hesitates for a second, and then takes it, and R walks him to the theatre door and knocks three times. 

“It’s R.” He says, winking at Enjolras as a security guard lets them in. 

“Are you in like, a secret society or something?” Enjolras whispers, “How come you’re allowed in the back entrance?” 

R just smirks at him, and holds up the basket he’s holding. “I brought a picnic. Fancy cheese and wine and stuff. Only the best for you.” He laughs when Enjolras rolls his eyes, and leads him up a set of stairs and through a long corridor, and they emerge at the end to an ornate room with a large stage, decorated in red velvet and gold. 

“Oh wow.” Enjolras hears himself whisper, and then he looks at R and smiles. “I never do stuff like this.” 

There’s a small jazz band and singer on the stage, going through a set, obviously in practice for a show in the next day or week or whenever. They sound good. It’s really nice. 

R sits them down in one of the balcony seats at the side, so they can see the band but the band can’t see them, and pours Enjolras a glass of wine. 

They watch the band for a while, and as they stop to have a drink and re-tune their instruments, Enjolras leans across and whispers to R. 

“You know, I think this is the nicest date I’ve ever been on.” He pauses. “I doubt I’m the first guy or girl you’ve brought here.” 

R smirks, and Enjolras feels a shiver run down his back as R brushes his hair aside to whisper in his ear. 

“Okay, you’ve caught me. I used to come here with my dad when I was a kid. He couldn’t afford tickets, but he had a deal with the doorman. However, Apollo.” He leans back, brushes Enjolras’ hair back over his ear. “You’re wrong about one thing. I’ve never brought anyone like you here before.” 

And then they’re kissing, and Enjolras brings his hands up to tangle in R’s dark curls. Broad, calloused hands reach up and cradle his jaw, and one hand leaves his jaw and curls around his shoulders instead so R can pull him closer and coax Enjolras’ mouth open with his own, slipping his tongue in. 

And it’s _good,_ and Enjolras, embarrassingly, hears himself moan into R’s mouth, because it’s hot and it’s good and R is so attractive and he hasn’t done anything like this in _so long_ …

So of course, that’s when his brain decides to freak the fuck out. 

He breaks away from R, and wipes the back of his hand across his lips. “I’m sorry, I-” 

R is frowning at him, panting slightly. 

Enjolras stands, gathering his jacket in one arm and stepping over R’s legs as gracefully as he can manage. “I’m really sorry, I just- I have to go.” 

He jogs out of the theatre and down one of Paris’ many side streets, and he feels so embarrassed that he just wants to scream in frustration, because R is nice and kind and there’s no reason for Enjolras to believe that this will be anything like being with Montparnasse. This is just a date, dating is _fine..._

“Enjolras!” Enjolras stops, waiting for R to catch up and feels a hand wrap around his wrist. He’s panting still, although to be fair it’s probably from running rather than kissing this time. 

“Enjolras.” R shifts so he’s holding his hand instead of his wrist. “I’m really sorry, if I’ve done something to upset you, or if you weren’t comfortable with that, I should have-” 

“No, R, it’s-It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Enjolras rubs the hand not being held by R across his eyes. “Honestly, it’s not you, it’s me. And I know that’s such a fucking cliché, but-” He decides R at least deserves eye contact for this, and looks at him. “I just- I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to do any of this, I-” 

“Enjolras.” R interrupts him, stepping closer and letting go of his hand so he can brush his hair away from his face again. “You don’t need to know how to do anything.” He smiles then. “I think you’re great, so please just relax. This doesn’t have to go super fast or anything. Trust me, it’s okay.” He presses a kiss to Enjolras’ forehead then, and then action is so tender that Enjolras can’t help but smile against his shoulder. 

“Okay.” He whispers. 

***

“Okay, that all sounds well and good.” Courfeyrac says on Saturday afternoon, stretching across the entirety of his and Combeferre’s sofa as he listens to Enjolras recount his date. “But on the next date, you’re getting some.” 

“There’s not going to be a next date.” Combeferre snaps from the armchair to its left. 

“Combeferre, shut _up._ ” Courf snaps back, and Enjolras decides he can’t ignore this anymore. 

“Okay, what’s going on with you two at the minute?” He sets his mug down on the coffee table and looks from Combeferre to Courfeyrac and back again. “You’ve both been acting really weird.” 

They don’t say anything, just look at each other, then back at him. 

Enjolras frowns. “Are you hiding something from me?” 

Courfeyrac says “No!” at the same time Combeferre says, “Enjolras, Courfeyrac has something to tell you.” 

And then they’re back to glaring at each other. 

Okay, now he’s pissed off. 

“Courf?” He says, folding his arms across his chest. 

Courfeyrac sighs and closes his eyes. “Enjolras, we-” 

He exhales, opens his eyes. “We haven’t found a place to have your surprise birthday party yet.” 

His birthday isn’t for another four weeks. 

Enjolras bursts out laughing. “Oh my god. Is that seriously it? If it’s such a big deal you can do it and mine and Cosette’s place. Jesus, I thought someone had _died_.” 

“And?” Combeferre says, still looking at Courfeyrac. 

Enjolras looks at him too, still chuckling slightly. And Courfeyrac is grinning now, and Combeferre knows he’s lost any semblance of getting him to take this seriously, at least for today. 

“And,” Courfeyrac says, “And like, no one has RSVPed. Honestly, I don’t even know if I’ll be able to make it at this stage.” It’s not true, of course. 

Enjolras’ smile slides off his face. “Oh wow, thanks for that.” He says drily. 

“For now!” Courfeyrac clarifies, “There’s still four weeks to go.” 

Combeferre reaches across and pats Enjolras’ shoulder. “For now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello yes this continues to be ridiculous
> 
> [Find me on tumblr!](https://pumpkinspice-prouvaire.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: there's sex in this chapter. It's 100% consensual, but given that one member of the party doesn't know that they're technically paying for sex, I'm going to give a dub-con warning to be safe. If you want to skip, stop reading at "Enjolras starts fiddling with the buttons of Grantaire's shirt" and start again at "He's lying on his back, after"
> 
> cw: discussions of gaslighting and infidelity in past relationships

It’s the following Wednesday, and the three of them are jogging around the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont. 

Well, that’s not technically true. Combeferre and Courfeyrac are jogging, Enjolras is doing a very weird half-jog half-walk which leaves him around twenty foot behind the two of them, and every so often he stops completely, pulls his phone out of his pocket and frowns at the screen. Tourists are staring at him. It’s awkward. 

“So, what’s the plan now, genius?” Combeferre pants to Courfeyrac, as they both speed up slightly to put even more distance between themselves and Enjolras. “He’s waiting on a text back from a guy which is never going to come, because the guy in question has taken his paycheck and disappeared.”

Courfeyrac bites his lip. “Okay so it’s _possible_ that I didn’t think this far ahead.” Combeferre groans as he continues. “Maybe I can convince R to send a text for free. Something kind but direct, kinda like ‘Sorry, but it’s not going to work’?” 

Combeferre rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to reply, but that’s the moment where Enjolras manages to catch up to them. 

“Christ, I can’t believe I’m being _ghosted._ ” He’s in a foul mood, and has been ever since he texted R on Sunday night and heard nothing back. “And I can’t believe I’m so pissed off about being ghosted. Why do I even care? I used to be emotionless, I used to have a heart of _stone._ ” He turns to Combeferre, eyes pleading. “Combeferre, you’re a doctor. Can you surgically remove my emotions?” 

Combeferre assumes he’s joking. He really, really, hopes he’s joking. 

***

Later on, they’re sitting on a bench in the park, having finished jogging. Courfeyrac is trying to convince the other two to split an Uber home, and Combeferre is berating him for being lazy, because the metro is _right there._ Enjolras is scrolling through Instagram and appears not to be listening, another indicator that he’s in a bad mood. He tends to ignore social media unless he’s annoyed about something, in which case he scrolls until he finds something to rant about. Combeferre wonders what tirade he and Courfeyrac are going to end up listening to for the entire _metro ride_ home. 

Courfeyrac is just complaining about how he doesn’t even have any journeys left on his Navigo, and how many changes they’re going to have to make to get back to Le Marais, and _we just went for a run, Combeferre, we’re allowed to be lazy, plus I think I’ve pulled my hamstring_ , when Enjolras looks up from his phone and says faintly “What the _fuck?_ ” 

Combeferre blinks. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s getting married.” Enjolras says, staring down at his phone again. 

Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchange alarmed looks, and say “Who?” in unison. 

“ _Montparnasse.”_ Enjolras snaps, holding up his phone to show them. 

And yeah, that’s Montparnasse, standing with his arm around a blonde guy not dissimilar looking from Enjolras- clearly, he has a type- who’s holding his left hand up to the camera, and yeah, that’s a ring on the blonde guy’s finger. 

Courfeyrac’s mouth drops open. “Wait a goddamn minute. You guys only broke up like, six months ago, right? How the fuck is he already not only with someone else, but getting _married_?” 

Enjolras doesn’t say anything, opting to give him a flat stare, lips tight. 

Courfeyrac stares back at him with a blank expression for a few seconds, and then Combeferre sees the moment the truth dawns on him. 

“Ohhh…” He says slowly, “He was already... _Oh shit._ ” 

“Yep.” Enjolras stands, his mouth a thin line, and starts heading towards the metro. 

Courfeyrac shoots Combeferre a look of complete panic, and they follow him. 

When Combeferre can get close enough, he grabs Enjolras’ shoulders to stop him in his tracks, and turns him round so he’s forced to look at Combeferre. 

“Okay,” Combeferre is so far from being the best qualified person for this, but he’s going to at least try. “So. That sucks. Montparnasse is a bastard. We know this. You know this. The entire population of France knows this. You dodged a bullet. And you’re going to get over him, because you deserve better. Now,” He sighs. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Enjolras immediately says “No, I don’t want to talk about it.”, which isn’t at all surprising. It had been his standard response to any questions about Montparnasse for the past six months. When Enjolras turns away again, nose still buried in his phone, Combeferre catches Courfeyrac’s eye, and he gives an elaborate shrug consisting of a lot of eye rolling and hand gestures. 

Enjolras rants about the institution of marriage for the entire Uber ride home. 

***

For Combeferre, the final straw comes a few days later, when Enjolras, sitting on their couch with his foul mood having continued into the weekend, slams the book he’s reading shut and snaps “My God, can you please stop breathing so _fucking loudly_?” 

The minute he leaves, Combeferre fishes his credit card out of his wallet and slams it on the table in front of Courfeyrac. 

“Call R.” He demands, hearing the strain in his own voice, “Before I _kill him._ ” 

The look Courfeyrac gives him is way too smug. 

***

Enjolras’ phone rings on Monday afternoon as he’s leaving work. He sees it’s R’s contact, and considers not answering at all, but he is kind of curious to see what he has to say for himself after taking Enjolras on a date, kissing him, offering him reassurance about their date and then disappearing for a week. 

“Hello?”

“Hey Apollo.” R doesn’t sound like he currently has a gun to his head and is being forced to call him, so Enjolras assumes he actually wants to speak to him. 

“How are you?” He asks stiffly. 

R seems to know what he’s thinking. “Listen, Enjolras. I’m really sorry about not getting back to you. I had a family thing, and I had to go down to Marseille to sort it, and it was just a big panic and I completely forgot my phone. And I only got back about an hour ago.” 

Enjolras resists the urge to roll his eyes. He’s heard the ‘family emergency’ excuse a million times before. But R sounds genuinely upset to have left him hanging, and Enjolras doesn’t want to be that guy who accuses someone of lying, only to find out that it actually isn’t a lie and R’s grandma has died or something. Because considering Enjolras’ love life, that _would_ be the kind of thing to happen to him. So he decides to let this one slide. 

“It’s okay.” He pauses. “Um, is everything good?” 

“Oh yeah. Nothing to concern yourself with, Apollo.” He can hear the grin in R’s voice. 

Neither of them speak for a few seconds, and then Enjolras asks “You’re from Marseille?” 

“Yeah.” R says, and then “What?” when Enjolras laughs. 

“Nothing really.” Enjolras realises he’s smiling and doesn’t really know why. “It’s just- I’m from Aix-en-Provence. We’re neighbours.” 

R laughs then. “Fancy that. Who knows, I might have seen you at some point during our illicit youths.”

Enjolras’ youth really wasn’t particularly illicit, not until he was a teenager anyway, and he left Provence when he was four, but no matter. 

“So Enjolras, are you busy tonight?” R asks. 

“No, why?” Enjolras is pretty sure he knows why, he’s biting back a smile as he says it. But he figures it’s polite to ask anyway. 

***

Grantaire has no idea why he picked this particular place for his third meeting with Enjolras. But Enjolras had asked what he wanted to do, because it’s not enough that he’s attractive and smart and passionate, he actually has to be _nice_ too. And Grantaire wants to do this. So...

“The aquarium?” Enjolras asks, one eyebrow raised. Even though it’s evening in mid-October it’s surprisingly warm, so he’s not wearing a jacket, just a plain white t-shirt, and his hair is in a small ponytail. 

He looks gorgeous. Grantaire imagines it would be very easy to fall in love with him.

His brain grinds to a halt at that. Where had _that_ come from? Grantaire is not supposed to think like that. Enjolras is his _client,_ even if he doesn’t know it, and this is his job. Developing real, actual feelings for him would be wildly unprofessional on so many levels. And it would just be plain _bad_ on so many other levels. 

And yet...

“Grantaire?” Enjolras looks confused, probably because Grantaire hasn’t said something in about thirty seconds, due to his brain breaking. “Are we going in or…?” 

Smile. Act normal. Do your job. 

Grantaire smiles, and opens the door to the aquarium for Enjolras. “We sure are, Apollo.”

Enjolras smiles at him then, a little hesitantly. But he reaches out and takes Grantaire’s hand in his own, and Grantaire’s heart warms just a little too much for his liking. 

***

“So, why are you so fond of the aquarium?” Enjolras asks. Grantaire had insisted on walking Enjolras home, and they had walked hand in hand from the aquarium to the Place de la Concorde, at which point Grantaire had asked Enjolras how far they still had to go, and insisted on taking the metro the rest of the way. Now, they’re a ten minute walk from Enjolras’ apartment, and Grantaire finds he doesn’t really want to let go of his hand, doesn’t really want the night to end.

He realises, vaguely, that he might be a little bit fucked. 

Act normal. Grantaire grins. “I like the sharks.” And then he decides to be honest, for once, and shrugs and says, “I’ve just always found marine life pretty cool. I actually considered studying marine biology, before settling on art.”

“What made you decide to stick with art, in the end?” Enjolras asks, and he actually sounds interested in the answer. 

Grantaire finds himself shrugging again. “I guess I’ve always liked the creative aspect of art. Like all the art you’ve ever seen has been created by a human, someone like you and me. I don’t know, I guess I just like that.” 

Enjolras hums. “Yeah, I get that. I wish I was good at art, but honestly I haven’t got a creative bone in my body.” 

Grantaire grins at him, nudging his shoulder lightly. “Your talents lie elsewhere. Just because you’re not good at art doesn’t mean you’re not passionate. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who _cares_ as much as you.” And it’s true. No matter what Enjolras talks about, whether it’s work, his friends, his family, his interests, his goals, his hopes for the future and humankind- It’s all done with single-minded determination and vigour. As though, if he says it with enough will, he can change it himself. 

It’s kind of enchanting to watch, in all honesty. Grantaire feels a bit dazzled by it. 

Suddenly, Enjolras stops. Grantaire is confused, because he isn’t being pulled to a doorway, and Enjolras isn’t saying “Well, this is me.” or letting go of his hand. 

Instead, he turns to Grantaire, and lifts his free hand up to cradle his jaw. 

“I really like you, R.” He whispers, and then leans in and gives him a soft, tender kiss. He pulls away, and his eyes are very wide and very blue and very bright, and his skin shines gold from the street light they’ve stopped under. He’s very beautiful. 

And Grantaire remembers at that moment that it’s all a lie. That Enjolras doesn’t know what he really does, doesn’t know who he really is, doesn’t know that Grantaire wouldn’t be here, that they never even would have _met,_ if Grantaire wasn’t being paid for it all. 

He swallows around what feels suspiciously like a lump in his throat. He can’t remember the last time he _felt_ this much. 

He clears his throat. “I really like you too, Enjolras.” It’s not a lie. 

***

All too soon, they reach Enjolras’ apartment building, and Enjolras is letting go of his hand and kissing him again. It’s not the chaste, tender kiss from their walk, and there’s none of the hesitancy or, anxiety, almost, from their second date. He’s going all in, running his hands through Grantaire’s hair, tugging a little bit, moaning when Grantaire slips his tongue into his mouth and grabbing the front of his jacket, pulling him close so he’s pressed against Enjolras and Enjolras is pressed against the wall. 

Grantaire breaks the kiss first, and leans his forehead against Enjolras and just laughs, a little bit breathless. Enjolras is laughing a little too, but his voice is quiet and serious when he asks “Do you want to come in for a while? Cosette isn’t here.” 

Grantaire looks up, looks into Enjolras’ eyes, and yeah, there’s no question of what he means by that. 

He takes the hand offered to him, and follows Enjolras into the dark building. 

***

Enjolras and Cosette’s apartment is nice, and roomy, and Grantaire wonders vaguely how they afford the rent on this place. But he doesn’t have much time to look around because Enjolras is leading him down the dark hallway and pushing open the door to what could only be his bedroom. 

It’s a little bit messy, but not terrible. It’s kind of endearing actually, with books on almost every surface and pictures of his friends on the walls. Grantaire knows they’re his friends, because he sees Courfeyrac in a few of the photos, and even recognises Combeferre from the one brief meeting they’d had the day before. There’s photos of a girl too, and Grantaire takes one look at the blonde hair and the nose shape and the matching smiles and concludes that this is Enjolras’ sister, Cosette, whom he’s never met. 

On the other side of the room where Enjolras’ bed is, there’s a large window, traditionally Parisian, and a poster above his bed advertises something called _Les Amis de l’ABC_ at the University of Paris, but he doesn’t get a proper look at that before Enjolras is pushing him down to lie on the bed and straddling his hips. 

They make out lazily for a while, and Grantaire moves from kissing Enjolras’ lips down his neck and along his collarbone, sitting up and pulling Enjolras’ t-shirt off when he decides he simply can’t have Enjolras be clothed anymore. Enjolras starts fiddling with the buttons of Grantaire’s shirt, but Grantaire bats his hands away to do it himself, because it’s just faster, and Enjolras uses that as an opportunity to start mouthing at Grantaire’s neck. 

“Ah, ah, no.” He says, when he feels Enjolras bite rather than kiss. “Don’t do that. I don’t- I don’t like that.” That’s not true. He actually does like that, quite a bit, but he can’t show up for other clients covered in hickies. 

“Mm, that’s okay.” Enjolras whispers into the skin of his neck. “I have no such qualms. Bite me as much as you want.” 

_Jesus fucking Christ._

He certainly doesn’t have to be asked twice. He sucks a mark into Enjolras’ neck whilst simultaneously undoing the button on Enjolras’ jeans. Because he may not be good at staying in art school or staying awake through Jehan’s slam poetry events or not falling in love with his clients, but this, sex- Grantaire is pretty good at this part. He pulls Enjolras’ jeans off his legs, and Enjolras laughs when they get tangled around his ankles, and then shucks off his own jeans before climbing on top of Enjolras and grinding their hips together. 

“Want me to suck you off?” He whispers into Enjolras’ neck, and Enjolras shivers and answers “ _God yes.”_

He pulls back to see his face. Enjolras’ eyes are closed, curls haloed out behind him on the pillow. There’s a pink flush in his cheeks which has spread down to his chest, and he’s panting softly. 

Grantaire can’t help it. He moans. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

He goes to move down his chest, and then freezes at the last second because _holy shit-_

Grantaire’s poor lust-addled brain had nearly forgotten.

“Why’d you stop?” Enjolras asks hazily, and Grantaire nearly laughs. _Bossy._

“Do you mind if we use a condom?” He asks into the soft skin of Enjolras’ stomach, pressing a kiss there afterwards. 

“Yeah, yeah of course, that’s fine.” Enjolras mumbles distractingly, and Grantaire sags with relief. Because if he said no he would have had to stand up and leave without either of them getting off, and Grantaire knows from experience that it’s always awkward when that happens. 

He leans off the side of the bed, fumbling with his jeans for a second before pulling out the long strip of condoms he always keeps on him, and okay, oops, he thought he had one separated already. Enjolras appears not to notice, which is a blessing.

And with that, he leans over Enjolras again, yanks his boxers off and, following the brief fumbling with the condom, _finally_ gets his lips around his cock. He hears Enjolras give a breathy moan, and his legs wrap around Grantaire’s back, heels crossed. And Grantaire goes for it, licking and sucking and pulling back to bite rough kisses into Enjolras’ thighs, which makes him whine and thrust his hips forward desperately. The marks are dark enough that they’ll probably stay around for a couple of days, and Grantaire feels extremely gratified by this. 

Eventually, Enjolras’ hips stutter and his hand tightens in Grantaire’s hair. “R, R, I’m going to come.” 

Grantaire gives a satisfied moan around Enjolras’ cock, and finds he actually means it, that he wants and cares about Enjolras’ pleasure and isn’t just going through the motions for once. He looks up, meeting Enjolras’ eyes, and the blonde’s back arches as he comes in Grantaire's mouth. 

He pulls back, swallows, and Enjolras’ arms reach out to wrap around his shoulders, pulling him in for another kiss. 

“Mm, that was really good.” He whispers against Grantaire’s lips. “Thank you.” 

Grantaire laughs. “No problem, Apollo.” 

“Mm.” Enjolras has a small, satisfied smile on his face. “Your turn now.” 

“What-” Grantaire starts, but then Enjolras moves suddenly, flipping Grantaire onto his back and shifting, moving down the bed and placing soft kisses on Grantaire’s chest, his stomach, his hips. And Grantaire jolts, because this is _wrong,_ because Grantaire’s meant to be the one servicing _Enjolras,_ not the other way round, because that’s what he’s being paid for…

“Enjolras.” He whispers, urgency creeping into his voice. “Enjolras, you don’t have to-”

Enjolras looks up from where he’s curled his fingers around the waistband of Grantaire’s boxers. 

“I want to.” His eyes are very dark, only a thin ring of blue around his pupils. “Can I? Please?” 

And well, who is Grantaire to say no? 

Enjolras smiles sweetly, and leans over the side of the bed. When he comes back up, he’s holding the strip of about ten condoms, one blonde eyebrow raised. 

“Did you have big plans for us tonight?” He asks, amusement evident in his voice. Grantaire doesn’t know how he expects him to respond when Enjolras is pulling his boxers off and giving his cock slow strokes as he rips the condom packet open with his teeth. 

He tries to muster up a snarky comeback, and instead says “ _Hnngggg_.” Enjolras laughs and leans forward on his hands and knees, pulling Grantaire in for a soft kiss, before moving back down to his waist. There’s no hesitation here; Enjolras leans down and licks a stripe up Grantaire’s cock before taking him in his mouth. 

The moan Grantaire gives is embarrassingly loud and embarrassingly high pitched, and he _feels_ when Enjolras gives a pleased moan around his cock and goes down further, until he has all of Grantaire in his mouth. 

Yeah, this really isn’t going to take long at all. 

He lasts until Grantaire is running his hands through blonde curls, and Enjolras does something particularly amazing with his tongue. Grantaire tugs, totally on accident, but then-

Enjolras gives a low, wanton moan around Grantaire’s cock, and that’s it, he’s gone. 

***

He’s lying on his back, after, still trying to catch his breath, and Enjolras sighs happily and curls into his side, head resting on his shoulder. 

Grantaire looks at him, and Enjolras’ smile is about one quarter sweet and about three-quarters smug. 

“Was that okay?” He asks, and Grantaire laughs. 

“I think you know it was okay. Why do you even need to ask?” 

Enjolras shrugs one shoulder. “It’s just- It’s been a while.” 

Guilt swirls hot in Grantaire’s stomach, because just last night he’d been in bed with a different man, and it hadn’t felt like this at all. 

_I need to tell him. He deserves better. He deserves to know, at the very least._

Enjolras’ phone rings then, where he’s left it on the nightstand, and noise makes them both startle. Enjolras sits up and glances at the screen. 

“It’s Courf.” He says, “Do you mind if I-?”

Grantaire shakes his head. “Go ahead.”

“Courf, hey.” He says, pulling the comforter up to cover his waist. “Yeah, no I’m at home now. Yeah, R’s here with me. Yeah. Yeah. _No._ I- No Courf, shut up.” Grantaire can hear Courfeyrac talking a mile a minute on the other end. And then he says something, and Enjolras rolls his eyes and says very pointedly “ _Goodnight,_ Courfeyrac.” And hangs up. 

Grantaire doesn’t want to know. 

Enjolras looks at him. “You don’t want to know.”

He supposes he doesn’t. Grantaire stands, and starts rooting through the pocket of his abandoned jeans, before pulling them on. “Do you mind if I have a smoke?” 

Enjolras smiles. “As long as you don’t mind me bumming one off you? I forgot to buy more earlier.” 

“Of course not.”

Enjolras stands and pulls on a pair of checked pyjama pants before opening the window as wide as it can go, sitting on the narrow ledge. Grantaire raises his eyebrow at the cigarette butts littered on the window, and sees Enjolras’ cheeks redden slightly. 

“I keep meaning to throw them away.” He admits, speaking around the cigarette between his lips. “If Cosette knew I smoked in here she’d kill me.” He bends to light it, and Grantaire admires the soft glow the flame creates on his skin.

They’re quiet for a few minutes, and then-

“You said it had been a while, before tonight?” Grantaire asks into the quiet. He knows it’s incredibly nosy, but he’s worked out by now that he just wants to know anything and everything about Enjolras. 

Enjolras shrugs. “Six months, give or take. That’s when I broke up with Montparnasse.”

_Yeah, I know._ Grantaire doesn’t say. _That’s why I’m here, to help you get over him._

Enjolras takes a drag of his cigarette. “I didn’t realise at the time, but it was a pretty shitty excuse for a relationship. He just-” He pauses. “Sorry, you probably don’t want to hear about this.” 

“You can tell me.” Grantaire says quietly. 

Enjolras seems to hesitate for a second, then stubs out his cigarette and continues. “It was like everything I said, he would counter it by saying I was being stupid or that I was acting crazy or dramatic. It didn’t matter what it was, work, our relationship, what I wanted to do with my life, whatever. He just always had this way of implying that he was right and I was wrong. He just had this way of speaking to me that just made me feel small and stupid. Which is ridiculous, because I’m an adult man, and-”

“It’s not ridiculous.” Grantaire interrupts. “It’s not your fault that he treated you like that. You deserve better.” 

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve heard that a lot.” He slides off the window sill and lies down on the bed. After a moment, Grantaire follows him and lies down too, wrapping an arm around Enjolras’ waist. 

“Turns out as well,” Enjolras continues, “I’m pretty sure he was cheating on me. I’m not certain, but I did have suspicions at the time. Of course, when I brought them up to him I was crazy and paranoid and all the rest. But I knew he was lying, and it makes me so angry that he made me doubt myself, and my own mind and my own intelligence. So it’s good to know I was right, in the end.” He snorts. “I guess I can only hope he treats his fiancé better than me.” 

Grantaire’s mouth twists in distaste. “He sounds like an absolute bastard.” 

“Oh he is. Didn’t stop me from turning into a mess over him though. But,” He shifts onto his side so he’s facing Grantaire, and gives him a soft, sleepy-looking smile. “Things are good now. I’m having fun with you. It’s not like before, where I just felt blindsided all the time. There’s no bullshit.”

It feels like there’s a klaxon going off in Grantaire’s head, a steady mantra of _tell him tell him tell him tell him_ which is getting increasingly hard to ignore. 

“R?” Grantaire starts, and realises he’s been staring at the ceiling without saying anything. 

He feels Enjolras’ hand brush his arm, and he sounds concerned when he asks “Are you okay? Sorry, I know that was kind of a lot to just unload on you.” He snorts. “Not very good pillow talk.” 

Grantaire turns to Enjolras and opens his mouth, to say _None of this is real, I’m an escort and your friends have been paying me to take you on these dates. I’m lying to you, they’re lying to you, but you’re kind and you’re smart and you’re sweet and you’re beautiful and I think I’m falling in love with you._

Instead, what comes out is “I’m leaving.” 

Enjolras frowns, blonde eyebrows knitting together. “What?” 

He swallows. “I’ve been offered a teaching job, a better one. In…” His mind searches desperately for a place. “In Toulouse.” 

Enjolras’ head tilts to the side. “Oh?” The frown deepens. “That’s- That’s far.”

“Yeah, Apollo,” Grantaire looks away, sits up at the edge of the bed and clasps his hands together between his knees “It is far.” 

He takes a deep breath in, lets it out, and forces himself to meet Enjolras’ eyes when he says, “I think it’s best if we just leave things here.” He licks his lips. “And, I’m sorry for not telling you, before. I just didn’t want this to end.”

He sees sadness and disappointment flicker across Enjolras’ face, before he manages to school it into a neutral expression. He shrugs one shoulder, and smiles a little sadly. 

“That’s okay. I understand. Congratulations on your new job.” 

Grantaire stands and starts gathering the rest of his clothes. His heart is thrumming with disappointment that he didn’t have the guts to tell Enjolras the real truth. But he supposes it’s almost kinder, this way. 

“I’m going to leave.” He tells Enjolras, who nods and stands, arms folded across his chest like he’s cold. 

Once he’s dressed again and ordered a taxi, Enjolras walks him to the front door, and gives him a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

“Thank you for tonight, R.” He whispers. “Good luck in Toulouse.” 

Grantaire nods, and leaves, and spends the entire taxi ride home trying not to burst into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: *writes one (1) nsfw scene and immediately yeets myself into the sun*
> 
> If you enjoyed, please leave kudos or comments! 
> 
> [Find me on tumblr!](https://pumpkinspice-prouvaire.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

“So, let me get this straight,” Jehan says, taking a sip of their soy latte, “You looked at some fish for a while, then went to his place, had wonder sex, dumped him, and now you have to run away to start a new life in Toulouse?” 

“I didn’t _dump_ him.” Grantaire groans, and pushes his head off where he’d been resting it on the cafe table, feeling sorry for himself. Honestly, this is the last time he comes to Jehan for sympathy. “I just- Told him we shouldn’t see each other anymore.” 

Jehan raises an eyebrow. 

“It was basically mutual!” 

Jehan snorts. “I seriously doubt that.” They set down their coffee and lean towards Grantaire, “Hey. Here’s a crazy concept. Why don’t you tell him the truth and then ask him on a _real_ date?” 

Grantaire can’t help it. He gives a self-deprecating laugh, because that’s his go-to in situations like this, and Jehan in turn gives him an extremely unimpressed look. 

“Come on Jehan. He definitely would not want to date me if he knew the truth.” 

Jehan sits back, frowning as they survey Grantaire over their mug. And someone wearing pink corduroy dungarees should not be intimidating, but Jehan has found a way. 

“Grantaire, you do this all the time.”

“What?” 

“You meet someone nice, get this ridiculous idea in your head that they’re not going to like the real you, and then make their decision for them. Maybe, and again, stop me if you think this sounds insane, you could sit down and have a _conversation_ with him.” Their voice is harsh, but when they place their hand on Grantaire’s forearm, it’s gentle. “Look, you like him, don’t you?” 

Grantaire groans and rubs his hands over his face. “More than I have any right to, considering we’ve been on three dates and none of them were actually real.” 

“So what’s the harm in asking?” They exclaim, throwing their arms out and nearly throwing their latte across the cafe, ignoring the way the barista and the other patrons glare at them (If Grantaire gets banned from another cafe because of Jehan, he’s going to be furious). “He clearly likes you, if the wonder sex is anything to go off.” The middle aged woman at the table next to them glares pointedly at Jehan as she stands up to leave, and they roll their eyes. “Eugh, cry me a river, Janice.” 

Grantaire’s laugh is a lot more genuine this time, and Jehan is laughing too. 

“Seriously, Grantaire.” They say, smiling and placing their hand back on his arm. “Just think about it.”

So Grantaire does.

***

“So yeah, that’s the end of it.” Enjolras completes his story, before reaching across and stealing a handful of Combeferre’s fries (Combeferre had told him to order his own, and he hadn’t- Combeferre needs new friends). 

They’re having lunch outside a cafe beside the Canal St Martin a few days after Enjolras’ third date with R, and despite confirming that this would be the last one, Enjolras seems to be in good spirits. 

“I hadn’t realised how shit things had been with Montparnasse, until I dated someone who, well, wasn’t Montparnasse.” Enjolras continues, giving a light laugh, “I forgot that dating isn’t supposed to make you feel like you have to question every sentence that comes out of your mouth before you say it. But I guess I didn’t have much experience to work off, before.” 

“He was a fucking prick and we all hated him.” Combeferre says savagely, and Courfeyrac nods fiercely in agreement. 

Enjolras shrugs, but he’s smiling. “As much as it absolutely _pains_ me to say it Courf, I think you were right.” 

The grin Courfeyrac gives is absolutely unbearable. “I am right about everything. Everyone should just listen to me all the time.” Combeferre kind of wants to push him into the canal. 

Enjolras glares at him, but Combeferre can tell he’s struggling to suppress a smile. “No.” 

They’re so busy eating and chatting and laughing, they don’t notice the person appear beside their table until a voice says “Hey, Apollo.”

The three of them look up at the same time. R is standing, hands in his pockets, smiling at Enjolras.

Enjolras blinks, looking vaguely like he’s been hit over the head with something. Then his brain finally seems to start functioning again and he says “R! Hey! Hi? I thought you were in Toulouse?” 

R laughs. “You’re not going to believe this, but I’m not going anymore. There was some administrative issue, they ended up having to make job cuts.”

“So you’re staying?” Enjolras asks faintly. 

R nods. “I’m staying.”

Enjolras still seems a bit startled, but then R’s words sink in, and he _beams._

“Thank God for the constant fuck-ups of French bureaucracy.” Combeferre mutters before he can stop himself, and Enjolras gives him a look, eyes narrowed, before standing up to face R properly. 

“R, these are my friends, Combeferre and Courfeyrac.” 

“It’s nice to meet you,” R says, expression neutral. “Enjolras has told me so much about you.” 

God, Combeferre can only hope and pray that all three of their acting skills are up to scratch, and that Enjolras doesn’t realise they’ve all met before. 

Courfeyrac grins, “All bad I hope.” 

R tugs lightly on Enjolras’ elbow, tilting his head to a spot further down the street. “Can I borrow you for a second?” 

“Yeah, of course.” Enjolras says, pocketing his phone where it’s lying on the table, “Courf, don’t eat my sandwich.” 

Combeferre waits until they’re out of earshot, before turning to Courfeyrac. “Did you-”

“No! Did you?!”

“No!”

They look at each other in shock, then over to where Enjolras and R are standing together. R is smiling softly at Enjolras, looking at him like he’s the only person in the world. 

“Combeferre,” Courfeyrac says, “You don’t think Enjolras-?”

Combeferre scoffs, shaking his head. “No way. Not without saying anything to us. If Enjolras knew, we’d both be lying at the bottom of the Seine right now.”

Courfeyrac rests his elbow on the table, and puts his chin on his hand. 

“You gotta admit,” He says faintly, “They look nice together.” 

Combeferre looks back over. They’re standing very close together, having a quiet conversation with small smiles on both their faces. R has his hand on Enjolras’ upper arm, rubbing small circles with his thumb.

Courfeyrac is right, they do look nice together.

As they’re watching, R nods, seemingly having decided something, and then he puts one hand on Enjolras’ waist, the other on his cheek and pulls him in for a soft kiss. 

They break apart, and Enjolras turns around to start walking back to their table. His cheeks are very red. R catches Combeferre’s eye, and gives him an awkward half-wave. He tries to resist the urge to glare.

Enjolras sits down, still smiling, and for a minute none of them say anything. 

“So…” Courfeyrac starts off, looking at Enjolras pointedly. 

“He’s staying. He’s going to come to my place on Saturday night.” Enjolras bites his lip, but his smile gets wider. “I’m glad you both got to meet him, even if it was brief. But I’m sure you’ll see him a lot more soon.” 

Combeferre glances at Courfeyrac, but he’s avoiding his gaze. Combeferre feels that, any second, they’re going to fuck up, lose their grip on the situation, ruin everything. 

“Okay so, I think I fucked up?” Enjolras sounds concerned, and their eyes are on him instantly. 

“I told him I’d cook for him.” Enjolras’ expression is changing to a mask of horror, like he’s just realised exactly what he’s signed up for. 

Combeferre blinks. “Enjolras, you don’t know how to cook.” 

He puts both hands over his mouth and nose. “I know.” 

By this time, Courfeyrac has rallied some, and he reaches over and pats Enjolras on the cheek. 

“I have a really simple pasta recipe. It’s easy. Even you can’t mess it up.” 

***

Enjolras is leaving city hall with Eponine, who has convinced him to have after-work drinks at the Musain ( _You’re getting hammered; No, Eponine, I’m having one drink; I’m going to get you hammered_ ) when he hears Montparnasse shouting his name somewhere behind him, and groans. 

“There are two million people in this city,” He mutters savagely to Eponine, “He seriously can’t find someone else to stalk?” But he forces his voice to be somewhat pleasant when he turns round. “Hi, Montparnasse.”

“Hi, Enj.” Montparnasse says, and then he doesn’t say anything else, just stands and stares at him. 

Enjolras glances around them, as though he’ll find the secret of why Montparnasse has randomly stopped him in the street to stare at him instead of doing _literally_ anything else, there. 

Eventually the silence becomes too excruciating, and he asks “Is there something you want?” 

“I’m getting married.” He says.

Enjolras raises one eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest. “Uh, I know.” 

“And I’m sorry, but my fiancé says he doesn’t want you coming to the wedding.” 

It genuinely takes all of Enjolras’ self control not to burst out laughing, and he can’t hide the smirk on his face when he says “I don’t want to go to your wedding, Montparnasse.” He sounds condescending, and even though he knows he’s being deliberately petty, he can’t help but revel in it the _slightest_ bit. 

Montparnasse blinks, looking blind-sided. “You-You don’t?” 

Enjolras wants to travel back in time and punch his past self in the face for thinking he wanted to date this asshole. “No, I really, _really_ don’t.” 

Montparnasse looks genuinely shocked for a minute, but then he gives Enjolras a pitying look as he says “You sure? I hear weddings are great for meeting people. I know a few guys who-”

“I’m already seeing someone.” Enjolras cuts him off furiously, and he hates that he felt so compelled to tell Montparnasse this, because it isn’t any of his _business._ He also hopes he can trust Eponine to hold him back, because he seriously might attempt to throttle him soon. 

If Montparnasse looks shocked before, he looks positively stupefied now. “You’re seeing someone?” He demands. “Who?” 

Enjolras simply stares at him for a few seconds, not quite believing that he has the audacity.

Eventually, he just shakes his head slightly. “Enjoy your wedding, Montparnasse.” Then he turns and grabs Eponine, who has just been standing there watching the situation unfold with an expression crossed between horrified and delighted, and marches them towards the direction of the Musain. 

“What the _fuck_ did I just witness?” She asks, sounding genuinely baffled, craning her neck backwards so she can stare where Montparnasse is standing, watching them retreat. 

Enjolras shakes his head, still running the absolutely ridiculous conversation around his mind. 

“I have no idea.” He says.

“He’s staring at your ass.” 

“Shut _up._ Let’s get hammered.”

Eponine cheers. 

***

“Hey,” Enjolras says to Cosette on Friday morning over breakfast, “Do you think you could go out tomorrow night?” 

She looks up from the newspaper she’s reading, eyebrows raised. “What’s tomorrow night?”

Enjolras shrugs. “I’m having a guy round.” _It’s not a big deal._

If possible, Cosette’s eyebrows rise even further. “Oh?” 

“It’s not a big deal. We’ve gone out a couple of times now.” Enjolras takes a sip of coffee. “He’s nice.”

“Huh.” Cosette shrugs, and looks back at her newspaper. “Fair enough. I can hang out at Marius’ place.” 

Enjolras huffs a laugh. “I cannot believe you’ve managed to stay friends with your ex, when your ex is _Marius Pontmercy_.” 

“Hey,” Cosette stands, grabbing her own and Enjolras’ coffee mugs and refilling them. “Just because your ex is the biggest asshole to walk the earth doesn’t mean they all are.” 

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Marius isn’t an asshole, but he is a dumbass.” 

She snorts. “You might have a point there.” She closes the newspaper and passes it to Enjolras so he can read it. “So, what, are you guys going out for dinner then coming back here?” 

Enjolras shakes his head, opening the paper. “No, I’m going to cook.”

Cosette says nothing, and when Enjolras looks up she looks completely horrified. 

“You’re _cooking_ for him? I thought you _liked_ him?” 

Seriously? 

“Why does everyone keep reacting like that?” He mutters, and Cosette laughs.

***

The doorbell rings at five minutes to eight, and Enjolras sighs, checks the food on the stove (he _thinks_ it looks normal) and attempts to fix his hair once more in the hall mirror before answering. 

It’s not R standing in the hallway, but Combeferre. 

Enjolras blinks. “Ferre? Hi? What are you doing here?” 

“Do you remember that book I lent you about the Russian Revolution? Can I have it back? I need it for something” He asks, striding into the apartment. 

Enjolras tries to cast his mind back. 

“The one I borrowed from you...Three years ago?” 

Combeferre nods. “That’s the one.” 

If Enjolras didn’t know him better, he’d say he was stalling for something. “Combeferre, you do know R’s gonna be here any second?” 

“I really need it back.” 

Enjolras would normally question why anyone would need a book on the Russian Revolution at 8pm on a Saturday night, but he’s known Combeferre for a long time, so he’s not too surprised really. 

Enjolras shakes his head, sighing. “Give me a couple of minutes.”

He eventually finds the book under his bed, and when he returns to the hallway Combeferre is standing where he left him, looking almost nervous. 

“Is there anything else?” Enjolras asks, handing it over. “That pen you lent me in one of our lectures two years ago? That t-shirt I borrowed from you when we were fourteen?” 

“Ha ha.” Combeferre says sarcastically, but then he bites his lip and says, “Listen Enj, about R…”

Enjolras groans. “Combeferre, can this _please_ wait? He’s coming, like, now.”

Combeferre seems to have some internal debate with himself, but he sighs and pats Enjolras’ shoulder. “Yeah, it can wait. Have a good time tonight.” 

Enjolras manages to smile, because he loves Combeferre even if he does feel like he’s about to have a stress aneurysm, between trying to cook a decent meal and his best friend showing up practically at the start of his date. “You too, Ferre.” 

He opens the door for him, and Combeferre almost walks right into R. 

“Oh, Combeferre.” R says, surprise evident in his voice. “Hello.” He steps into the hallway, giving Enjolras a bottle of wine and a kiss on the cheek. 

For some reason, the look Combeferre gives R could kill. “Hello, R.” Just as he leaves the apartment, he turns to face Enjolras again. “Oh, Enjolras…”

“Good _night,_ Ferre.” Enjolras slams the door in his face. 

R bursts out laughing. “Oof, that was rude.” 

“He wouldn’t leave!” Okay, maybe Enjolras feels a tiny bit shitty about that. He’ll apologise tomorrow. 

He’s certainly not going to do it now, he thinks, when R pulls him in for a kiss. 

***

Grantaire doesn’t know if he’s ever been more nervous in his life. 

He and Enjolras are sitting on the sofa together, sharing the wine he brought. Every so often, Enjolras leaps up and runs into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later looking flustered. 

It’s sort of hilarious, but Grantaire’s heart is beating too fast to properly enjoy it. He’s asked Enjolras on a real date, no money involved, and that means he needs to sit down with him and, God forbid, have an honest conversation. 

“I really am worried I’m going to poison us both.” Enjolras says, the fifth time he returns from the kitchen. He has sauce on his cheek. 

Grantaire rolls his eyes. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad.” When Enjolras sits down, he reaches over and wipes the sauce off his face with the pad of his thumb. 

Enjolras laughs, his cheeks going red. “Thanks, R.”

“Grantaire.” He blurts out before he can think about it any further and work himself into a panic. 

Enjolras looks taken aback. “What?” 

He takes a deep breath, tries again. “Grantaire. My name is Grantaire.” He clears his throat, takes a slug of wine. “I’d like for you to call me that.” 

“Oh.” Enjolras looks surprised for a second, “Grantaire. Okay.” And then his face splits into that same wide smile from outside the cafe, the beautiful one, from when Grantaire had told him he was staying in Paris. 

Well, Grantaire’s about to wipe that smile off his face. He tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Enjolras, there’s something I-.” 

So, of course, that’s when the kitchen timer goes off. 

Enjolras leaps to his feet for the sixth time tonight, and honestly, Grantaire doesn’t know how he has the energy. He feels exhausted just watching him. 

“Hold that thought. I need to concentrate.” He says, so Grantaire figures he can leave it until after dinner, at least.

***

“I have a question.” Grantaire asks as Enjolras sets a plate down in front of him and sits opposite him. 

“Yeah?” 

“What’s the poster in your room? The Les Amis de l’ABC or whatever?” 

“Oh.” Enjolras smiles softly, takes a sip of wine. “When I started my first year at university, there wasn’t an official LGBTQIA+ society on campus.” He rolls his eyes, “Why the university didn’t have one already established by 2016, I have absolutely no idea.” 

Grantaire takes the opportunity, while Enjolras is speaking, to take a bite of his dinner. He then has to immediately resist the urge to spit it back out again. 

He really, really, likes Enjolras. 

But this might be one of the worst things he’s ever eaten. 

_How can something be equal parts salty and bitter? And...crunchy? It’s pasta, how can it be crunchy?_

Enjolras is still speaking, seemingly unaware of the existential crisis Grantaire is having over his dinner. “But yeah, the campus didn’t have one. So Combeferre, Courfeyrac and I fundraised and campaigned and established it ourselves.” He stops speaking, takes a bite of pasta. His eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t say anything else.

Grantaire swallows the one bite he’s taken with difficulty, because he’s a good dinner guest even if Enjolras is apparently a terrible dinner host. “That’s pretty cool.”

Enjolras shrugs. “I think it has like, close to one hundred active members on campus now. Which is crazy.” He gives a light laugh. “It was kind of heartbreaking, when I finished my degree and obviously had to leave it behind. But sometimes I help out with alumni stuff, and our friend Feuilly took over and they’re incredible, so of course they’re doing great things with it.” 

Grantaire nods, and forces himself to take another forkful of dinner. 

“They’re coming here next week. It’s my birthday on Saturday, I think we’re having people round.” Enjolras suddenly looks slightly nervous, reaching up and tugging self-consciously on one of his curls. “You can come too. If you want to meet them. Or hang out more with Courfeyrac and Combeferre. Cosette will be there as well.” 

Grantaire smiles. “I’ll definitely be there.” Enjolras physically relaxes when he says this. “I’ll bring Jehan, I’d like for you to meet them.” 

Enjolras nods, but then his face suddenly looks stern. 

“But Grantaire, I think you have something to tell me first.” Enjolras says, “You’re not being honest.” 

Fuck. _He knows. How does he already know?_

Well, Grantaire supposes he has to tell him at some point. “Listen, Enjolras…”

Enjolras’ face splits into a grin so wide the skin around his eyes crinkles. “Why did you not tell me my cooking is inedible?” 

It takes a second, for Grantaire’s brain to catch up, and he immediately gives a loud, inelegant snort. 

“It’s not that bad.” He says between laughter. 

“No, you’re right. It’s worse.” Enjolras is laughing too, standing up and taking both plates into the kitchen. 

Grantaire smirks when he comes back, “I know you thought you were getting rid of me when I was going to Toulouse, but really, Enj, you can just break up with me. You don’t need to poison me.” 

Enjolras groans, hiding his face in his hands. “Literally everyone I know told me it was a bad idea. I don’t know why I even attempted it. I’m mortified.” 

Grantaire stands, walking over to Enjolras and wrapping his hands around his wrists. He pulls his hands away from his face. 

“It’s really, really okay. It’s actually kind of a relief to know you’re not good at everything.” Enjolras rolls his eyes, but he continues, “How about, for future reference, I’ll do the cooking and you can do the dishes afterwards?” 

Enjolras laughs. “Sounds good.” 

“For now, do you want to get a take out?” Grantaire asks, but then he starts a bit when Enjolras moves his wrists out of his grasp and starts running his hands lightly across his chest, looking up at him through blonde lashes. 

“Mm.” He mumbles, and then brings his lips close to Grantaire’s ear. “Maybe we could do something else first?”

It’s only later, when he’s in his taxi home, that Grantaire remembers he never told Enjolras the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is one braincell present in this entire fic and it belongs to Jehan
> 
> Comments and kudos fill me with joy, so feel free to leave some!
> 
> [Find me on tumblr!](https://pumpkinspice-prouvaire.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: alcohol consumption

On Saturday morning, Enjolras’ birthday, Jehan walks in on Grantaire lying slumped across their kitchen counter, laptop open in front of him, having maybe the _smallest_ of existential crises. 

They walk behind him to grab their green tea out of the cupboard, glancing over his shoulder at the screen as they go, and then they stop and take a longer look, hand frozen where it was stretching towards the handle of the cupboard. 

There’s a pause, and then, “Art school, huh?” 

Grantaire groans and sits up properly, wiping a hand across his face. “I don’t know. Yeah? Maybe? I was just kind of thinking...You know, because I never finished it.” 

“And you’ve been ignoring your client phone for the best part of a week now.” They say. Both of their faces turn to look at the Nokia, sitting silently on the kitchen counter. Silently, because Grantaire has it turned off. 

Jehan stops their pursuit of green tea, and instead pulls out the stool next to Grantaire. 

“Hmm,” They say, “Looking at art schools, avoiding clients, pining…” They grin, and then say in a sing-song voice, “Looks like someone wants to go monogamous.” 

Grantaire makes a noise of frustration in the back of his throat. “It’s not even that. It’s just, lately I’ve been thinking. I have enough in my savings that I can actually afford the tuition now. And like,” He looks at Jehan, and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This was never meant to be, a- A _long-term_ thing. And now, suddenly, here we are, it’s four years later. And like, don’t even get me wrong, it’s good money, and like, sometimes, I even _enjoy_ it. But lately, I just-” He cuts himself off, shrugs. “I guess I just haven’t been. Enjoying it, I mean.” 

Jehan makes a noise of sympathy. “Do you think Enjolras has something to do with that?” 

Grantaire laughs. “I think Enjolras has _everything_ to do with that.” He breathes in deep, looks at his best friend, shaking his head slightly. “Honestly, I think I’m falling in love with him.”

Jehan sighs. “You need to tell him. Tonight.”

Grantaire snorts. “It’s his _birthday_ , Jehan. Can you imagine? ‘Happy Birthday Enjolras! Congratulations, you’re officially one year closer to the sweet embrace of death. Oh, and also, I’m a whore.’” 

Jehan slams their fist down on the countertop, making Grantaire jump slightly. 

“Do _not_ speak that way about yourself.” They snap, “You are a kind, smart, funny, interesting and incredibly talented individual, who also happens to be a sex worker. And if Enjolras can’t understand that, then he can honestly _fuck off,_ because you deserve everything in this world and more.” 

Grantaire blinks. He remembers meeting Courfeyrac, a few weeks ago, how he had been so complimentary of Enjolras, and thinking there was no one who would speak about him that way.

He was wrong apparently. 

His voice comes out watery when he says, “Thanks, Jehan.” 

“Of course.” They stand up again, back on their hunt for green tea. “Think about the art school thing. I know a guy looking for bar staff at the minute. Full-time, part-time, whatever you want. I can hook you up if you need. Just do whatever is going to make you happiest.”

Grantaire really, really loves Jehan.

***

Enjolras and Cosette’s father left Paris to retire to a village near Avignon when Enjolras started college. Now, he visits the capital twice a year; in late June, for Cosette's birthday, and in mid November, for Enjolras'. On Friday, after they finish work, Cosette and Enjolras drive to Charles de Gaulle airport to pick him up, and when he comes out of the terminal the two of them are standing amongst the taxi drivers and chauffeurs, holding a sign between them that reads ‘Jean Valjean/Monsieur Madeleine/Ultime Fauchelevent/Urbaine Fabre/Monsieur Leblanc’ and grinning.

The story behind the sign is…A long one. 

On Saturday night the three of them go to an Italian restaurant near Pigalle. The food is good, and as usual the three of them nearly come to blows over who’s paying, although their dad seems horrified at the thought of Enjolras paying on his birthday. Cosette leaves before dessert, citing a ‘Marius-related emergency’. 

And well, Enjolras has _met_ Marius, so he isn’t overly surprised by this. 

He’s not stupid though. He knows it’s a cover story so Cosette can go back to the apartment and make the final arrangements for his ‘surprise’ birthday party, which he’s known about for approximately three months. 

So he doesn’t understand why their father is dragging him up the steps at the Sacre Coeur for the _third_ time. 

“Dad, can we _please_ go back?” Enjolras genuinely feels like his lungs are going to collapse. Maybe he needs to work out more. “I know there’s a surprise party, you don’t have to stall anymore.”

Dad looks over his shoulder, where he’s five steps ahead of Enjolras. “What surprise party?” 

“Oh my God.” 

His father ignores him, turning to survey the city lights stretching out for miles below them. “I’ve always liked this part of the city.” 

“Yeah.” Enjolras manages to gasp out, clutching the stitch in his side. “It’s pretty.”

He laughs. “Cosette tells me your new boyfriend lives around this area.” 

Enjolras rolls his eyes. He can’t tell his sister _anything._ “He’s not my boyfriend.” _Not really. Not yet._

Their father narrows his eyes. “Well, whatever he is, I hope he’s a good one. Although I doubt you could do worse than that Marius one. There’s something not right with that boy.”

Enjolras snorts. Poor Marius. 

“Don’t worry dad.” Enjolras says, and he can’t help but smile softly to himself. “He’s a good one.” 

“Good.” His dad smiles, then checks his watch. “Okay, I think it’s time to get you to your surprise party.” He raises an eyebrow at Enjolras. “Do you think you can act appropriately surprised?” 

“What surprise party?” Enjolras deadpans, and his father laughs again. 

***

Combeferre is locked out of the apartment. 

One of his colleagues had called from the hospital to discuss a possible shift swap next week, and he’d stepped into the hall to take the call, unable to hear inside the apartment due to the music Courfeyrac was playing at full volume. The door had swung shut behind him. 

And this is a problem, because Combeferre can _hear_ Enjolras coming up the stairs. 

“Fuck.” He whispers savagely, pounding on the door. “No, no, no.” Why isn’t anyone _answering?_

Finally, Courfeyrac opens the door. Unfortunately, it becomes immediately apparent that there has been a very serious miscommunication. 

“SURPRISE!” Thirty people scream at him, and Combeferre nearly has a heart attack. 

“Um.” Combeferre looks over his shoulder to see Enjolras down the hall, standing at the top of the staircase, looking like he’s trying very hard not to shriek with laughter. 

There’s a few seconds pause, in which everyone realises how badly they fucked up, and then a much more lacklustre “Surprise!” 

“Wow.” Enjolras says, stepping into the apartment and shrugging his jacket off, “That was... _Wow._ ” 

Luckily Cosette swoops over with a drink in her hand to rectify the situation, and Combeferre feels his heart rate return to normal. 

“Well, are you surprised?” She asks, pulling her brother in for a hug. 

Enjolras has never been very good at lying, or acting. “Oh! Yeah! _So_ surprised. I really had no-”

“You’ve known for weeks now, haven’t you?” 

“Months. Courfeyrac told me.” 

Cosette whips round, screaming “Courfeyrac!” and Combeferre takes that as his cue to get another drink. 

***

“You’re absolutely sold on the cowboy boots?” Grantaire asks Jehan a little desperately as they walk from the metro to Enjolras’ apartment. “There’s still time for you to go home and change.”

“The cowboy boots are great, Grantaire.” Jehan says, “I don’t need your negativity.” 

It's 11pm, and they've already missed the 'surprise' portion of the party, because Grantaire absolutely refuses to go to a social event where he doesn't know anyone (bar, of course, Enjolras). And so he waited for Jehan to finish work before heading round. When they reach the apartment, there’s a short girl with a mass of dark curls wearing combat boots and heavy-looking gold hoop earrings leaning against the wall, smoking. She gives them a nod when they approach. “You going to the party?” 

They say yes, and she stubs out her cigarette on the wall. “I’m Eponine. I work with Enjolras.” Enjolras has mentioned her a few times, they were in the same class at university. He’d also implied that she was kind of terrifying, but Grantaire will give her the benefit of the doubt for now. 

She looks them both up and down, and huffs a laugh when she reaches Jehan’s feet. “I like your boots.” 

Grantaire absolutely refuses to look at them. 

The three of them head up to the apartment together, and Grantaire can hear music from the hallway. 

When they knock, the door is opened by a pretty blonde girl who Grantaire immediately recognises as Cosette, Enjolras’ sister. He then proceeds to say nothing, mentally panicking because _oh God does this count as meeting the family?_

Grantaire looks at Eponine for help, but she’s useless too, staring at Cosette with her mouth slightly open. 

“Hi,” Jehan says, “We’re friends of Enjolras’.” Thank God one of them is competent. 

Cosette hasn’t looked away from Eponine. “Of course, come in.” She says faintly, opening the door wider. 

“Eponine!” Enjolras is running over immediately, hugging Eponine so tightly that her feet leave the ground.

It’s possible he’s a little drunk. 

When he sets her down, Eponine looks from Enjolras’ face to Cosette, who is standing beside them and _blushing_. Grantaire can practically see the moment she connects the dots in her head, and she mutters “I need a fucking drink”, before disappearing into the crowded apartment. 

Enjolras turns to Grantaire then and wraps his arms around his neck. “Hi Grantaire, you came.” He tries to peck his lips but ends up getting his nose instead, and laughs, loudly and unabashedly. 

Grantaire is so completely gone for him. It would be funny if it wasn’t inevitably all going to go wrong at some point in the very near future. 

Enjolras pulls away from the embrace finally, and smiles at Jehan. “You must be Jean, it’s so nice to finally meet you.” 

“And you’re Enjolras.” Jehan kisses Enjolras firmly on both cheeks. “Please, call me Jehan. Grantaire has literally _not_ stopped talking about you. He’s right, you do have amazing hair.” Grantaire is going to kill them, honestly. 

Enjolras grabs Grantaire’s hand, pulling him further into the apartment. “Let’s get you a drink.” 

“Enjolras! Shots!” Courfeyrac bounds across the room with two shot glasses in his hand, although it looks like most of whatever alcohol was in them is now on the floor. His eyes meet Grantaire’s and he freezes, saying “Oh.” very quietly. Then, he sees Jehan standing beside him, and his expression changes into what is very clearly a flirtatious smile. He changes trajectory, walking over to Jehan and handing them one of the shot glasses.

“I like your boots.” He says. 

“Jesus Christ.” Grantaire announces to no one in particular. 

***

Not long after Enjolras gets him a drink, he’s pulled away by some partygoers, and Grantaire is left standing by himself. He groans. The only other person he knows here is Jehan, and he really, really doesn’t want to get involved in whatever they and Courfeyrac are talking about. 

He’s saved from standing alone looking like a complete creep by a tap on his shoulder. When he turns, it’s Combeferre standing beside him, and he does not look pleased to see him. 

“Can we talk?” He asks shortly, and when Grantaire nods Combeferre grabs his arm and pulls him to a more secluded part of the crowded apartment. 

“What are you doing here?” He hisses. 

Grantaire regards him coldly. “Enjolras invited me actually.” 

“Does he know? Is he paying you?” 

Grantaire glares. “No and no. This may shock you, but it appears he actually likes me.” 

To his surprise, Combeferre puts his head in his hands and says, “I’m sorry.” He looks up when Grantaire makes a questioning noise. 

“I’m being a dick to you. And that’s not fair of me.” He says, “It’s just- This whole thing has spiraled out of control, and we know we need to tell him the truth, but I can’t help but feel it’s been taken too far now.” 

Grantaire chuckles humorlessly. “If it helps, I know exactly how you feel.” He downs his drink. “And, if it makes you feel better, I haven’t taken any clients in over a week now.” 

Combeferre looks slightly stunned. “Oh?” 

“Yeah. I don’t know what my plan is but I- I’m working on it.” Grantaire wishes he had another drink. He feels like he needs it. “You should know...I care about him. A lot. And I’m going to tell him the truth soon. But you and Courfeyrac need to own up too. All three of us are lying to him right now. It’s not fucking fair.” 

Combeferre nods, not meeting his eyes. Grantaire figures this is enough for now, and turns in search of another drink. 

***

Enjolras finds Grantaire in the kitchen, slightly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of alcohol at his disposal. 

“Hi Grantaire!” He says, and immediately wraps his arms around his neck and tries to stick his tongue down Grantaire’s throat. 

“Wow! Okay, hi! Let’s get you some water!” Grantaire grabs a glass, fills it with tap water and forces it into his outstretched hands.

“Mm, thank you.” Enjolras is swaying slightly, a dopey smile on his face, but he doesn’t look like he’s going to throw up or pass out, so Grantaire figures he’s okay. “I’ve had a lot to drink.” 

“You don’t say.” Grantaire laughs, and presses a kiss to Enjolras’ temple as he drinks, because he just can’t stop himself when Enjolras is all dopey and smiley and adorable. “Happy birthday, by the way.” 

“Thank you.” Enjolras is smiling softly, and he reaches forward and rests a hand on Grantaire’s cheek. “Can I kiss you?” 

Grantaire laughs. God, he loves him so much he could _cry_. “Of course you can, you dork. Keep it PG though, your sister is at this party, and she looks like she could kick my ass.” 

Enjolras laughs. “Oh, she definitely could.” He says, before giving Grantaire a soft kiss on the lips, and Grantaire refills his glass of water for him when they break apart. 

“Do you want your present?” He asks, and Enjolras’ eyes go wide. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything!” 

“It’s really nothing special, honestly.” Grantaire pulls the present out of his back pocket and presses it into Enjolras’ hand. 

He holds it up. “Oh wow, a USB?” 

Grantaire bursts out laughing. “No, you loon. It’s what’s on the USB. Plug it into your laptop when everyone leaves tonight.” Enjolras apparently loses about one hundred brain cells when he’s drunk; Grantaire can’t decide if it is actually incredibly endearing or if he’s just too far gone. 

Enjolras wraps his arms around Grantaire’s waist and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Grantaire. Really.” He whispers, and then, “I really, really like you a lot.” 

It’s getting a bit much for Grantaire. He peels Enjolras off him gently and says, “Okay, I officially want to be as wasted as you are. Where’s the vodka?” 

Enjolras grins. “I think I saw Courfeyrac with it.” He entwines his fingers with Grantaire’s, and pulls him into the hall. 

***

Later, after Grantaire has had three shots in quick succession but only allowed Enjolras to have one, because _you really, really don’t need any more,_ a tall redhead comes up to him and holds out their hand for Grantaire to shake. 

“Hey, you must be Grantaire.” They say, “I’m Feuilly.” 

He shakes their hand after a bit of awkward adjustment, because his other arm is wrapped tight around Enjolras’ waist, and Enjolras’ finger is curled lightly around one of his belt loops as he talks to Cosette. 

“Feuilly’s the best.” Enjolras mumbles sleepily, and Grantaire supposes he should be grateful that he’s found his inside voice again, at least. 

Feuilly looks from Enjolras to Grantaire, grinning and raising their eyebrows. Grantaire tries to pretend to be exasperated but he’s pretty sure the look he settles on is just ridiculously fond. 

“So, Enjolras told me you’re a teacher.” Feuilly says, taking a sip of their beer.

_Well, about that…_

“Yep.” He says, “I’m an art teacher, in the 19th.” _Please don’t ask me any more questions about it._

“Oh cool.” Feuilly says instead. “I have a friend who teaches in the 19th. What school are you in?” 

“Uhhh…” _Oh fuck, oh shit, what was my story again?_ “I’m in the...The...College Georges Clemenceau.” 

“What?” Enjolras suddenly says beside him. When Grantaire looks, he’s frowning, head tilted slightly. 

“You told me you taught in College Georges Méliès.” Enjolras says slowly, eyes narrowed, and Grantaire gives a laugh that is far too loud and too nervous. 

“No babe, you’re remembering it wrong.” He says without thinking, “It’s Georges Clemenceau.” 

Enjolras still looks suspicious. Then he huffs a laugh and says, “God, I need to sober up. I’m going outside for a bit, you coming?” 

Grantaire shakes his head no, and Enjolras calls across the apartment to Courfeyrac and Eponine, who disappear into the hallway with him. Eponine already has a cigarette tucked behind her ear.

When Grantaire turns from him, Feuilly is looking at him, a distrustful expression on their face. 

Grantaire grins awkwardly, knowing that he needs to escape from _this_ as quickly as possible. 

“Well, Feuilly, it was a pleasure to meet you.” He says, “But I can hear my friend calling me." That's another lie, he has no idea where Jehan is. "I’ll chat to you later.” 

***

Grantaire is suitably buzzed when he feels a tap on his arm. He turns from where he’d been watching Enjolras dance terribly with Jehan, to see Courfeyrac holding out a shot glass. 

“Hey,” He says, and downs the contents of his drink. “I was speaking to Combeferre earlier.” 

Grantaire nods, wary, but doesn’t say anything. 

“And,” Courfeyrac rubs the back of his neck, “I just want to say. Thank you. I don’t know how this is going to turn out, when we all come clean but-” He moves, leaning back against the wall Grantaire is leaning on. “I haven’t seen Enj this happy in a long time. And knowing you actually care about him, it’s-” He shrugs. “It’s nice.” 

Grantaire nods, drains the shot glass. 

Courfeyrac looks at him, smiling. “If things go well, when we tell him the truth. I think we’re going to be good friends.” 

Grantaire finds himself smiling back. “Yeah, sounds good Courfeyrac.” 

Courfeyrac doesn’t say anything, and Grantaire grins. “So, you and Jehan…” But he stops, when Courfeyrac’s expression changes suddenly. He looks horrified. 

“Uh, dude? You okay?” 

“What is he doing here?” He whispers to himself, ignoring Grantaire completely. 

“Who?” Grantaire asks. He looks towards the apartment door but doesn’t see anyone particularly special, just a tall, thin, dark-haired man who already looks exceptionally bored despite being there all of three seconds. Maybe that’s just his natural expression. 

“ _Montparnasse.”_ Courfeyrac snaps, and then he walks through the crowded apartment, probably trying to find Combeferre. 

_Montparnasse? Isn’t that-?_

“Aw, fuck.” Grantaire says out loud. 

***

Enjolras is alone in the kitchen, downing a glass of water because he’s definitely had one too many shots, when he hears a voice behind him say “Hi, Enjolras.” and nearly jumps out of his skin. Not least because-

He turns. “Montparnasse? What are you doing here?” 

He grins and steps further into the kitchen, closing the door so it’s only cracked open. “I was invited.” 

Enjolras thinks of the people who organised the party- Cosette, Combeferre and Courfeyrac- and scoffs. “No you weren’t.” 

“Okay, I wasn’t.” He says, stepping closer to Enjolras and leaning one hand on the counter beside him. “Maybe I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday.” 

“Okay, thanks.” Enjolras deliberately slides further down the counter, away from Montparnasse’s hand. 

“I got you a present.” Montparnasse says, holding a wrapped box out in his hand. 

Jesus. “You _really_ didn’t have to get me anything.” And knowing Montparnasse, it definitely won’t be anything good. It possibly won’t even be legal. 

“I insist.” 

Rolling his eyes, Enjolras takes the box and sets it on the counter behind him. “I’ll open it later.” He won’t. 

“Cool.” Montparnasse hasn’t moved from the counter. Enjolras is wondering vaguely how long he has to stand here in tense silence before Montparnasse says quietly “My fiancé didn’t want to come.” 

Enjolras snorts. “Yeah, I can imagine he’d have a problem with you showing up uninvited to your ex-boyfriend’s birthday party.” 

Montparnasse hums, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and staring at the kitchen tiles. He looks...Embarrassed, almost. 

Enjolras could leave right now, could go and enjoy the rest of the night and leave Montparnasse to stew in whatever emotions he’s experiencing.

Instead, he rolls his eyes, and, against his better judgement, says “Do you want a beer or something?”

***

After a few hours, Grantaire realises how exhausted he is and figures he should just go home. He hadn’t spoken to Enjolras in a while, but figures he should at least find him to say goodbye. 

He goes to walk into the kitchen, but stops when he sees Enjolras inside with Montparnasse. They’re speaking too quietly for Grantaire to hear, but Grantaire can see the tension in Enjolras’ body, through his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes and the way he slides away when Montparnasse makes a step towards him. 

Grantaire bites his lip. What had been the problem with Montparnasse again? He’d been cheating on Enjolras, that much he remembered, but what else had he been?

_He was a liar._ Grantaire thinks, the night’s alcohol making his stomach churn. _He was a liar and a manipulator and a gaslighter and Enjolras could have done way better than someone who treated him like that._

Grantaire turns away from the kitchen door, leaning against the wall and burying his face in his hands, muttering “Christ.” Because, God, Grantaire is just the same, isn’t he? Their entire relationship has been built on Grantaire telling lies and half-truths and letting Enjolras believe the wrong things. 

He thinks back to the conversation about the schools, when Enjolras had said something that he _knew_ was correct and Grantaire had shot him down without thinking. 

God. What makes Grantaire any different from Montparnasse?

“Fuck.” Grantaire says into his hands, and allows himself one quiet sob. 

He has to leave, he has to go right now because if he doesn’t leave now he’s never going to, and whatever wonderful thing they create will be based on lies. 

He yanks his coat off the hanger in the hallway, doesn’t tell anyone he’s leaving. He pulls his client phone- which he always carries out of habit more than anything- out of his pocket and stares at it, gnawing the inside of his cheek. Enjolras doesn’t have his other number, his real number, and Grantaire figures that’s just as well. He sets it on the hall table before he leaves.

In the corridor, he sees Courfeyrac and Jehan, sitting on the stairs, making out. Neither of them notice him, and he figures that’s for the best too. 

***

“And the worst part was, we didn’t even get to see the headliner.”

“Yeah, because you _punched a bouncer_ and got us both kicked out!” 

He’s leaning against the counter next to Montparnasse, beer in both their hands. At some point, their stilted, awkward conversation had turned to reminiscing, and honestly, it’s the most comfortable he’s felt around Montparnasse in a long time. 

Montparnasse grins, “Yeah, that was probably one of our better nights out.” 

Enjolras frowns as he thinks of it. It was a rare night that hadn’t ended in a screaming match in the middle of the street and separate taxis. Instead, they’d walked back to Montparnasse’s apartment together, hand in hand, and the next day, Montparnasse had brought him breakfast in bed.

Enjolras raises an eyebrow. “Well, it was a rare night out where we didn’t end up at each other’s throats, so that probably makes it one of the better ones.” 

They lapse into an uncomfortable silence, and Enjolras stares at the kitchen door and takes a sip of beer. He figures he should probably get back out there and find Grantaire. He hasn’t seen him in a while. 

“Do you still miss it? Miss me?” Montparnasse asks quietly. 

Enjolras grimaces, because he can’t believe they’re about to have _this_ conversation. 

“I used to.” He admits quietly. “But lately, I’ve been-”

He turns his head to face Montparnasse, only to find that Montparnasse’s face is far too close to his own, and he’s leaning in further, and Enjolras realises what’s going to happen before it does and takes a sharp step backwards. 

“Woah, what the fuck are you doing?” 

Montparnasse blinks, mouth slightly open. “Oh, I thought-”

Enjolras scoffs. “You thought what?” 

“Enjolras-”

" _You thought what?_ ”

Montparnasse looks at Enjolras in silence, and then drops his eyes and stares at the kitchen tiles once again. “I think I should go.”

Enjolras folds his arms across his chest and glares. “Yeah I think you’re right,” he says coldly. 

Montparnasse looks up again, meeting his eyes but not saying anything, and then turns and sets his empty beer bottle on the counter before leaving, and Enjolras is alone in the kitchen again. He leans against the counter and runs his hands through his hair. His slight buzz from the alcohol has warped into something sickly and unpleasant, and really, he just wants to sleep. 

He leaves the kitchen eventually, and nudges Cosette from where she’s talking with Eponine. The two of them are standing very close together. It’s almost three in the morning by this stage and most people had headed home hours ago. There’s just a few stragglers left, but Enjolras can’t see Grantaire among them. He figures he just couldn’t find him and went home. 

“Hey,” He says to Cosette, “I’m exhausted. You guys can keep hanging out if you want.” 

“Okay,” She smiles at him, reaching up and ruffling his hair like she knows he hates. “Night Enj. Happy birthday.” 

It’s only when he’s lying in bed that he remembers the USB stick Grantaire gave him. His eyes are practically shut by this stage, but he opens his laptop anyway and pushes the USB in. 

There’s three files on the USB, and Enjolras flicks through them, a smile spreading over his face. 

They’re digital drawings- Grantaire has obviously used some of the photos on his walls for reference. There’s one of him, Courfeyrac and Combeferre, one of him and Cosette, and one with their dad as well. 

Enjolras doesn’t know a great deal about art, but they’re gorgeous. He’s only disappointed Grantaire hadn’t done one with himself in it.

He thinks, as he’s drifting off to sleep, that Grantaire will know somewhere he can print them out and get them framed. He could even ask him to make another one, maybe with the two of them…

When Enjolras wakes up the next morning, his hand is still resting on his laptop keyboard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok I know this is being dragged out but I will put you all out of your misery soon I PROMISE
> 
> also if you're one of the people who jog up and down the steps at the Sacre Coeur just know I am terrified of you
> 
> I spend my week rereading your comments like Narcissus looking into the pool, so you're always welcome to leave more!
> 
> [Find me on tumblr!](https://pumpkinspice-prouvaire.tumblr.com/)


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